


Hero, Waiting

by captain_ariel_barnes



Category: Captain America, Captain America (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Winter Soldier - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-09 02:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 45,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17398682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_ariel_barnes/pseuds/captain_ariel_barnes
Summary: After a terrible tragedy takes the lives of her parents and all six of her siblings, the Crown lands on young Princess (Y/N)’s head.





	Hero, Waiting

 

The stomp of horse hooves and the sound of a young girl’s giggles fill the otherwise serene and silent private royal gardens. A massive expanse of carefully tended flowers, orchards, bushes, and trees dot the landscape behind the palace. It’s the most peaceful place in the entire kingdom. Maybe even the world.

That is, it’s _usually_ peaceful.

The young princess has stolen her guardian’s horse to convince him to chase her into the woods. He was in the middle of scolding her for skipping court—knowing the King would likely be blaming _him_ for the princess’ absence soon. She huffed about it and ran, shoeless, to the servant’s stables and hopped right on James’ horse. With one quick jab to the ribs, the horse took off, leaving James to chase her on foot. It is a game she enjoys playing just to rile him up.

It is well into the afternoon before James tracks down Princess (Y/N) at a break in the trees, still mounted on his horse in the middle of a soft green meadow. They hear him approach, the horse shifting to face its master. The young princess turns her head to find a disapproving scowl on her protector’s face. She flashes him a mischievous grin and in a most unladylike fashion, sticks her tongue out at him in a gesture of victory.

James gives her back a crooked grin, and then quickly whistles twice. His horse rears up on its hindlegs and the princess slides off the back of the saddle and right onto her butt in a small puddle of mud.

“James!” She shrieks, standing up and trying to wipe away the evidence of her activities before returning home to the palace. It’s of no use. Her dress is ruined. Stained the color of the dirt. Her seamstress will have a fit.

“That is what happens when you steal a man’s horse, your Royal Highness.” He teases to her as he takes his horse by the reigns and rubs its snout affectionately.

“You could have broken my neck! It is treason! I should have you whipped in the courtyard!” She threatens. They share a moment where they just gaze into each other’s eyes and then she breaks into a fit of laughter. He offers her a smile too. She finally sighs. “Ugh. I cannot stand court. What does it matter if I’m there? My presence is useless. I am seventh in line for the crown.”

“Perhaps your own crown, Princess. But I suspect one day you will sit by your own King-husband as he commands his armies and governs his people.”

“But that’s just the problem, isn’t it, James? They will always be _his_ armies and _his_ people. I will simply be Queen Consort. A pretty accessory to _his_ Majesty.”

“Any man who considers you nothing more than an accessory is not worthy to call you his queen.”

“I don’t want to be a queen at all, James. I want to be free to live! Free to marry.” She says, and then meets James’ eyes and whispers: “Free to love.”

*****

James is standing guard outside (Y/N)’s suite. She’s been indisposed all day—which really means she is faking a sickness to avoid the wrath of her rather crossed father for skipping court. She does this regularly. James always gets blamed by her mother for letting her galivant outside long enough to catch a cold on these days.

As to keep up the act, she denied the supper her family shares down in the dining room, but requested two bowls of venison stew and a side of strawberries be sent up to her rooms at the moon’s peak. It’s a peasant dish. Certainly not a meal any royal would be caught dead eating in public. A meal that would cast her father into a fit if he found out about it. But she didn’t request it for her own pleasure.

Well into the night, after her family has fallen asleep, (Y/N) opens her suite door and pulls James inside with a small and silent giggle. She holds up a strawberry to his mouth.

“Happy birthday, James.”

He bites the strawberry and she leads him to her vanity where the bowls of stew wait for them.

“You spoil me, your Highness.” He says in gratitude. Venison stew was a dish his mother made him every year for his birthday. When she died of the fever four years ago, James thought he would never feel such a comfort from a food again. When (Y/N) found out he was missing her recipes, she continued the tradition and has secretly given him a bowl on his birthday since then. The strawberries are supposed to be saved for dessert. The Royals are always given the nice, plump, ripe fruits and the palace staff usually gets stuck with the fruits deemed too “ugly” for royalty.

And James loves strawberries.

So he eats them first.

After they share their meal, (Y/N) jumps from her seat and pulls James to the center of the room with a brilliant smile on her face.

“Dance with me, James.” She requests. He does not care to refuse her, but that doesn’t mean he gives in so easily. It is _his_ birthday, after all.

“I thought you were indisposed, Princess?”

“I’ve had all day to recover James!” she says back, narrowing her eyes because she knows that _he_ knows she was faking it. She tries to push him along to begin dancing with her, but she cannot budge his large, muscular frame more than an inch.

He laughs at her petty attempts. “But we have no music!”

“No?” she inquires, her smile falling. “Then why does my heart sing when you are near?”

James is not sure how to answer such a question. He stands still as a statue as he looks into her eyes and tries to read her. She has a sadness hidden behind them.

“You are the only man that I care for, James. The only man I wish to dance with at royal balls. The only man I wish to confide in. The only man I could ever love.”

James shakes his head fervently and pushes her with a gentle nudge, arms-length away from him. “You have not looked for love anywhere else, your Highness.”

She shakes her head back to him and places herself back in his arms. “But you do love me back, don’t you?” she asks.

“You are very young, Princess. I am much too old for your affections.”

“I am fifteen!” she snaps back. “In three years I will be old enough to marry!”

He takes a deep breath and pushes back his long hair out of his face. Her naivety hurts his soul. “When I agreed to take the oath and become your guardian, I had to give up my hopes of marriage. I swore that I would protect you and your royal integrity at all costs. Not even my devotion to you and your domestic happiness would allow me to compromise that.”

She looks down at her bare feet for a moment, nearly defeated. Then she looks up at him with hope in her eyes. “What if I wasn’t royal? What if I gave up my title? Then would you love me back?”

James sighs, thinks of anything he can say to her to get himself out of this situation. He knows that as a royal, nothing is more effective than the word “no”.  With a gulp, he whispers. “I will not allow myself to love you, no matter how much you might want me to. It is…you are not worth the risk.”

Harsh. But effective.

Tears well in her eyes and she pushes him away. Commands him to leave her alone. He does so without protest, gently closing her bedroom door behind him and retiring for the night. In his bed, he lies awake and thinks about what he’s done to her heart. He swears he can hear (Y/N) crying all the way across the hall. He’s immeasurably guilty. He does care for the princess, deeply. Undoubtedly. If it were any other situation, he would marry her the day she turns eighteen. But it is inappropriate. She is too young for him, and she is of royal blood. It is not right of him to claim her heart when it would cost her everything to do so.

She needs her family more than she needs him.

He expects that in the morning, he will be called before the King and she will _really_ have him whipped in the courtyard for breaking her heart in such a way.

*****

James follows and watches from afar as the young princess walks through the royal gardens, beating the innocent well-groomed bushes with her umbrella as she passes them. The cold rain of an autumn storm soaks through her pretty dress. James tried to approach her and take the umbrella so he could shield her from the cold water, but she told him that if he took another step towards her, she would have him strung up by his toes and left to dangle in the village.

He thinks she’s a brat, but he backs off and follows her a few feet behind.

Loyal, always.

They have been outside for perhaps fifteen minutes when a footman comes running up to James from inside the palace, clearly crossed that his uniform is getting wet.

“You have been summoned by the King.” He says. James looks to the Princess, and before he can try and protest, the guard adds, “I am to watch her until you return.” and takes the umbrella from James to shield _himself_ from the rain instead of offering it to the princess first.

That’s the difference between sworn guardians and lesser palace servants. The royal family’s comfort, wellbeing, needs, and wants will always come first to James. Footmen are simply there for convenience. It may seem like a small thing, the umbrella. But to James, it means everything.

James is not fool enough to deny his Majesty’s summons, so he quickly jogs back into the castle, shaking off his wet armor and hair like a shaggy dog in the doorway before hastily making his way to the throne room.

The King awaits upon his throne, alone. The Queen and the other princesses are not to be witness to this conversation. James enters, kneels, and respectfully regards: “Your Majesty.”

“Stand up, boy.” The King boasts sternly. “Look me in the eye like a man.”

He sounds angry. But then again, the King always seems to be upset about something.

James stands and meets the King’s eyes. He languidly points to a small stand with a long rectangular box on it, signaling James to approach it. It’s a very beautiful box. Black as midnight, with silver filigree detailing. They look like panther claws.

“Well? Open it.” The King prompts. James takes the small key resting on top and unlocks it. Inside, a sword. It has such fine craftsmanship that James audibly gasps at its beauty. “You’re an excellent swordsman, James.” The King says. “What do you think of it?”

James takes that as an invitation to pick it up and examine it. It is unlike any sword he’s seen before. A quality unheard of, obviously very expensive, a metal James cannot recognize with eyes alone. Too light to be steel. Perfectly balanced. James holds it by the hilt and strikes the air a few times to get a feel for it. He can see his reflection in the metal, the material bringing out the blue in his eyes.

It’s absolutely stellar.

“I have never seen a finer sword in all my years of life or service.” James answers honestly, placing the sword back in the sheathe and back inside the box.

The King clears his throat softly. “It’s from Southern Wakanda. Vibranium. One of a kind.”

“It is a weapon fit for a King.” James says.

The King chuckles. “No, boy. Perhaps when I requested Queen Shuri to make it, it was. Now, it is a weapon fit for a man, born with nothing, who earned the _respect_ of a King.” He stands and walks to James. “My youngest daughter has been very melancholy this morning. Do you know why?”

James stiffens a bit. “I believe she is suffering from a broken heart.” He says honestly.

“And who would be the poor soul whom was foolish enough to break the heart of a princess?”

James swallows hard. He knows better than to lie to a King. “I am not sure how to answer that without dishonoring her, your Majesty.”

The King looks down at the sword and leans against the table. “When you first came to this palace, I disliked you. You were puffed up on the Academy’s favor. Arrogant. Reckless. Unfit to protect my daughter. Yet despite my grievances, I was out-voted by my own family, and you were offered the position anyways. I hated you, watched and waited for you to make any mistake that would justify dismissing you. I did not think you worthy of such an honorable position. However, last night, you did something that proved me wrong. You were faced with a great temptation and did what you had to do to protect my daughter’s integrity. My _family’s_ integrity. I owe you a great debt for that.”

“The princess is so young.” James replies, wondering how the King found out about his affections. Perhaps James was not as discreet with them as he thought. He begins to sweat, but continues to answer the King. “She should not be so reckless with whom she gives her heart. I believe I have made it clear to her that she cannot give it to me.”

“You’re absolutely right, James.” The King says, then taps the sword box. “Which is why this sword is yours.”

James is visibly taken aback, abruptly taking a small step backwards. “I…I could never—”

“Yes, you can. And you will. I command it. Consider it a gift for your…” the King struggles to find the right phrase. He chuckles to himself. “Just take it.”

“And if her Highness asks me where I obtained such a weapon?” James asks.

The King pats James on the shoulder. “I’m sure you will think of something to tell her.” He says with the smallest grin. “Now—” he begins. “It is raining, and you would do well to bring my daughter back inside. We are leaving for Asgard in the morn to attend the new king’s coronation. It would be most ill-timed for the princess to catch a cold.”

“A new Asgardian king, your Majesty?”

“Yes. King Odin breathed his last three days ago. His secondborn, Thor, will be crowned at the next full moon. The Queen Mother, Queen Frigga, insists on such a date. I say she has been dabbling in witchcraft, but the Asgardians have a powerful army and are notorious conquerors. It would be wise of us to refrain from offending them with our absence on such an occasion.”

“Thor is Odin’s secondborn?”

“Aye. His firstborn daughter, Hela, was imprisoned for high treason many years ago, even before you were born.” He scoffs loudly. “This is why the people demand male heirs. Women can be so…unpredictable. They are only good for alliances. Promises of marriage, boy, are the greatest gift one sovereign can give to another. It is especially easy when you have seven daughters to choose from.”

James, visibly uncomfortable with the King’s words, decidedly speaks out of term. “The young princess does not wish to be a pawn in a dynastic game.”

“I’m afraid that’s not her choice to make, James. It is mine. And I have already made it.” The King explains. “Do not fret, James. I would never promise her to a man you would disapprove of.”

“It is my belief that the only approval of whom she marries should be her own.”

“That is a noble thing to say.” The King nods. “But when you return to her, you will speak nothing of this conversation. To disobey this direct order would be treason. Is that understood?”

“Undeniably.” James answers. He turns to the King. “I believe it is time for me to escort her inside for dinner. Please, excuse me.”

James bows and backs out of the room. He makes no effort to rush outside to disturb her Highness. She is young, her grudge will pass. Her feelings are real, however, and he mustn’t forget he has made her feel such a way. James is stoic outwardly, but inside, he is fuming. It is undeniable that the King loves his children, especially his youngest daughter, (Y/N). But he regularly speaks about them as if they are his property. It is despicable to James. He and many others have begun to adopt less…sexist notions about a woman’s role in the world. When Wakanda split into two separate nations and King T’Challa made his sister Queen of the new country, (Y/N)’s father thought it was a scandal, while the rest of the kingdom rejoiced. Queen Shuri is the first Queen Regnant in the world, and undeniably the most popular of the current living sovereigns. (Y/N)’s father is rather crossed that his wife never gave him a son.

Just a foolish old man, behind in the times.

James can only hope that (Y/N)’s future husband will not treat her as property, too.  

James does not like being away from the princess. His mind wanders to such things and it only makes him upset. He hastens his step so that he may reach her faster.

(Y/N) has given up on attacking the poor bushes with her umbrella, and instead sits at the edge of a small fountain. She watches as James walks towards her, and the closer he gets, the more she cries. Eventually, he is standing over her, using his own umbrella to shield her from the rain. Water runs down his nose and his long brown hair sticks to his forehead. Her lip quivers and a lump forms in his throat at the sight of her. He’s the face of her first heartbreak, and all she wants is _his_ comfort from a pain _he’s_ caused her.

“Please, your Highness. Supper will be served soon.”

She looks down at her feet and stands. They walk slowly back through the gardens and inside. The water dripping off her clothes causes the rugs to slosh when they’re stepped on. Her dress is soaked through and she’s shivering. They arrive back to her room, and she walks inside. James begins to gently close the door behind her, but she stops it with her hand.

“James, wait.” She says, throwing herself in his arms and squeezing him as tight as she can. His body heat is so comforting, and she begins crying harder. “Please James, if you will not love me, promise me you will not leave me.”

He strokes the top of her head. “Never, (Y/N). “Never.”

That was the first time he used her name instead of her title.

And it made all the difference in proving his sincerity.

*****

**Three Years Later**

“Happy birthday, my darling.” A soft voice whispers, waking the young princess from her slumber. A gentle hand smooths the covers over her and then goes to rub her scalp soothingly.

“Thank you, Mama.” The princess says, sitting up in bed.

“Come.” The Queen says, kissing her daughter’s forehead and standing up, holding out a hand for her. “It’s time to dress. The kingdom has a day of celebration planned for your coming of age.”

It’s Princess (Y/N)’s eighteenth birthday. It is customary in the kingdom to celebrate when such an age is reached in the royal family. It is a time when it is appropriate for young girls to begin preforming “womanly duties”—the first of which is finding a suitor. The thought of being married and sent away to live in her husband’s kingdom, far from her family, makes her want to cry. If only she were a normal woman.

(Y/N) plans to enjoy the day as much as she can, but admittedly, it would probably feel more special if she hadn’t six other sisters which have already celebrated their own coming of age. At this point in her life, the young princess feels nothing more than an afterthought. She is always preceded by her parents and sisters at everything in her life. She is always the last to enter a room and the last to be served. Her rooms are at the farthest end of the castle, the wing housing the royal family running out of rooms at six children. The seventh lives in seclusion with the spare rooms that house visitors during their stay. There are certainly worse ways to live, but she feels like her birth was—almost pointless. Normally, the monarchs only birth at most three children to ensure a living heir—but (Y/N)’s mother had the questionable luck of birthing two sets of triplets and one single child. (Y/N)’s eldest sisters are in their late twenties, her second eldest, in their mid-twenties, and now she has finally reached her own adulthood.

Even though she feels as though she’s the last choice in most aspects of her life, her young age makes her the kingdom’s most prized possession—emphasis on possession. With the exception of the first heir, all of (Y/N)’s sisters are expected—encouraged even—to marry lesser royals and aristocrats from the surrounding kingdoms. (Y/N), however, has always been told she will be married to a fine king one day, the only suitable fate for the virgin jewel of the royal family.

Her handmaidens and mother help her change into her breakfast outfit, a pastel yellow dress that reveals her shoulders and upper décolletage. A dress suitable for a _woman_. Her hair is done in her signature style, her makeup minimal. She steps into her low heels and then exits the room, where she’s met with a familiar and welcoming face.

“James.” She says with a heat rising to her cheeks.

He takes her hand and kisses it, respectfully bowing. “Your Highness. Womanhood becomes you.” He compliments, just loud enough for her ears only.

James has always been a bit of a flirt. She finds it charming. It’s a welcome change from the puffed-up arrogance of the lords and ladies that often wander the palace. James is her personal guard, and has been since she was just ten years old. Peasant boys are often sent to a special academy to train through boyhood to become knights in manhood. Only the most promising pupils are offered positions among the royals. James is significantly older than her, but only seems to age like a fine wine—more refined as the years pass. Looking at him and realizing what a fine man he’s become always brings a heat to her cheeks. (Y/N) has always been fond of him, but he was wise enough to convince her at a young age that he was unworthy of her love—even if he truly wanted it. He showers her with affection, but is cautious with it all the same. To pursue her would taint the reputation of the royal family. They both know it. Still—young and impressionable as ever, (Y/N) appreciates him, his presence, and his love—returning it in moderation when she is able.

“Thank you, James.” She responds to him. She turns to gesture in the direction of her mother. “Mama and I were just heading down for breakfast. May I ask you to escort me?”

“It would be an honor as always, your Highness.” He says, holding out his arm for (Y/N) to loop through and rest her hand on his forearm. James holds out his other arm. “May I, your Majesty?” he asks her mother.

“No, thank you, James. I can manage.” She says, walking ahead as in traditional fashion to lead the way.

James and (Y/N) trail far behind, in no rush. The breakfast is waiting for (Y/N), after all. It won’t start without her.

“Did you sleep well, Princess?”

“Quite. Though I had a strange dream at one point. It woke me with a fright.”

“May I ask what dream it was so that I may do a better job of warding it off tonight?”

“It was nothing, James. Do not fret. I only worry about my impending engagement. I hope that whoever I marry will not be as cruel as the faceless man in my dream.”

James stiffens at the mention. “Do not worry, your Highness. I have always told you that no man would be foolish enough to take your love for granted. I suspect the kings of the surrounding lands will be fighting amongst themselves for it.”

“Perhaps we shall have a tournament to determine my suitor instead?” She teases, looking around the foyer to make sure they are alone before she lets out the next sentence. “Though legends tell of a brave Sir James who is unmatched in the art of tournament fighting.”

“Do your best not to dwell on legends, Princess. They will bring you only disappointment.” He says, coming to a stop in front of the breakfast room so that she may be announced. He takes her hand and kisses it once again before stepping to the side.

(Y/N) enters the room and her family stands and softly claps for her. Her father, the King, presses a kiss to her cheek and helps her sit in her chair. (Y/N) observes the food laid out in front of her. Something catches her eye and her mouth begins to salivate.

“Lemon cakes are not exactly a proper breakfast, Papa.”

“No, my darling. But they are your favorite?”

“Yes, Papa.” She says with a smile, loading up her plate with nothing but the tart treats.

Breakfast is filled with stories of (Y/N)’s childhood and teen years. Her sisters speak fondly of their little sister, ecstatic that they can begin discussing adult things with her. The conversation repeatedly becomes a game of her sisters guessing who she will be married to. It makes (Y/N) sink into her seat.

Breakfast ends, and her sisters whisk her away to her rooms where all of their handmaidens are ready to help them prepare for the celebrations. James stands guard outside the door, smiling to himself when he catches a hint of (Y/N)’s laugh penetrating through the door. He knows she’s enjoying the attention. She often confides in him how lonely she feels.

A man James isn’t particularly the fondest of approaches—Prime Minister Anthony Stark. Though he leads Parliament, he also acts as the unofficial Royal Advisor to the monarchs. The official Royal Advisor is a man named Alexander Pierce, but his position is more of a formality. (Y/N)’s father values Stark’s advice more than Pierce’s. Pierce has always despised him for it. Stark is not the worst man James has ever met, certainly having proved his loyalty to the royal family over the years—though James doesn’t care for his extravagant spending habits. But perhaps James just isn’t meant to understand what it’s like to have more money than God himself. James greets Stark with a gentle nod and Stark knocks on the door before opening it.

“Your Highness.” He greets to the young princess. “First and most importantly, happy birthday.” He says, kissing her hand.

“Thank you, Lord Stark.” (Y/N) says to him with a smile.

“Secondly, I have a gift.” He says, handing it to her.

“Thank you. That was very kind, my Lord.”

“Oh, it’s not from me, your Highness. It’s from King Brock of Sokovia.”

Groans and whispers fill the room at the mention of him. Her country has had issues with Sokovia and its rulers in the past. A war between (Y/N)’s great-grandfather and Brock’s great-grandfather is what split the land to create Sokovia as a new nation. It is a small country that crowns dictators as sovereigns regularly. Power is obtained through coups, not through blood. It is quite uncivilized. It’s left the innocent people of the nation poor, hungry, and left the government unstable. King Brock does everything he can to empty the country’s coffers as quickly as possible. Sokovia specializes in jewels, and if King Brock were smart, he would grow the industry and could easily make the nation exceedingly wealthy. He cares not for his people though, only for his personal pleasures. He is disliked across the world. It’s a troubled relationship, but they all do their bests to maintain peace with him.

(Y/N) opens the small black box by first untying the red ribbon. Inside, a large, flawless-quality ruby necklace with obsidian-black metalwork. Ornate. Gaudy. Unfashionable for a modern princess. A note accompanies the gift:

_Dearest Princess,_

_I am pleased to hear that the time has come for you to reach womanhood. Rubies are a symbol of fertility in Sokovia. I picked this one out myself, just for you. I cannot wait to see you adorned with the jewels I have given you. We will meet soon, and you will return with me to Sokovia where we will have a fruitful union and you will be showered with every luxury money can buy. When you give me a son, we will rise and become the most powerful nation in the world._

_Until Then,_

_King Brock the Brave_

(Y/N) tears the note in half and discards the parchment on the floor, relaxing back into her chair.

“Only a coward calls himself brave.” She says. “And only a fool declares himself a victor before the war has been won.”

“Do you find that you are a war that needs conquering, sister?” her eldest sister teases. (Y/N) turns her face down in embarrassment and it’s promptly tilted upward again so that her handmaiden can continue powdering her face.

“Lord Stark?” (Y/N) asks.

“Yes, your Highness?”

(Y/N) holds up the ruby necklace and examines it as it twinkles in the light. “How much do you think a necklace like this is worth?”

“Well, I am no jeweler, your Highness, but I would reckon it is worth a farmer’s salary fifty-fold.”

She places the necklace back into the box and hands it to her advisor. “See that it’s sold and the funds are distributed to the schools in the villages. I’d like them all to have new books for their libraries by the end of the week.”

Stark looks shocked. “That is very generous, your Highness. I will see that it is done.” He says, bowing, and then exits the room, closing the door behind him.

(Y/N) is dressed in a special gown made for this occasion. It’s a deep, olive green. It reminds her of the forests to the north that separate her country from Asgard. It’s beautiful. She examines herself in the mirror, smiling at how the dress makes her look grown up. Moments later, her mother enters the room with a gasp, holding her hand to her chest.

“My child, you look lovely.” She says, kissing (Y/N)’s cheeks.

“Thank you, Mama. Shall we go to the village?”

“They are all waiting for you.” Her mother says.

And they were.

The villagers dance and sing in the streets. Children hand (Y/N) flowers and street vendors offer her samples of breads and sweets and fruits. The village elders offer her advice and good graces and the young men occasionally ask her for a dance. It is a great honor for a princess to accept a dance from a commoner.

James stays close by, eyeing any man who’s gaze travels inappropriately over his princess. On more than one occasion, a suspicious face from the crowd will approach her, and James has to get ready to unsheathe his sword. As soon as the character notices him, though, they will move away. It makes James follow his oblivious princess that much closer. He does not like crowds.

With the way the village roads are set up, the main path starts and ends at the edge of the castle grounds, looping around so there’s no backtracking through the city to decrease congestion on the busy streets. (Y/N) finishes her birthday parade, turns back to the city and gives her people a wave. They cheer and wave back in response, always showing their soft spot for the youngest member of the royal family. To know that the people love the woman she has grown into gives her great happiness in her heart. They toss flowers in her direction, but are careful not to aim them too close to her. Throwing something too close to a royal, even something as innocent as a flower, can be seen as treason. She picks up a stalk of lavender and breathes in it’s fragrance, before kissing it softly and tossing it back into the crowd. A few handsome young men at the front fight each other for the plant.

“James?” (Y/N) calls, watching and laughing as a small child takes the flower from the older boys and runs away with it, holding it over his head and taunting them.

“Your Highness?”

She holds out her arm for him to take. “Escort me to the dining room? Papa says that he’s had only the best prepared for me.”

“It would be an honor, as always.”

“Would you join us, James. For supper?”

“Would be improper of a knight to join the royal family on such a special occasion.” He says, smiling down at her. She sighs.

“I suppose you’re right. Papa would have a fit. Would you deny a plate if I sent it to you after?”

James is the one who sighs now. “You are far too kind for your own good, princess.” He says, and they reach the front door of the palace.

There are no footmen there to open or announce their arrival, which James finds… _odd_. In all his years of service at the palace he has never witnessed the absence of footmen stationed at the doors. However, two of the guardsmen following them step forward to open the door before the women of the royal family have to stop their strides.

The King had stayed behind during the festivities to make sure that the palace was set up to his standards for his daughter, as was the normal tradition he’s had for every birthday his children have celebrated. However, he is also absent from greeting them at the door. Again…odd.

The palace is hauntingly empty. It’s always teeming with guardsmen, nobles, servants, and the large royal family. None of those parties are present, and James’ hairs on his neck stand at attention. He stiffens his posture and slows his pace with the utmost caution.

“Mama? Do you think Papa is already in the dining room?” (Y/N) asks, trying to look around for any signs of her father.

“Perhaps the footmen forgot to announce our return. He must not have expected our arrival so soon.” The Queen answers plainly. She can hear the hurt in her daughter’s voice. The guardsmen open the door to the dining room.

James lets out a breath he’s been holding since they entered the castle when he finds the room completely normal. There is no ambush and no gruesome scene in front of him. Servants wait for the royal family to sit so that they may serve them.

The King is still absent. (Y/N)’s face falls even further. She assumes he’s forgotten about her birthday, or was pulled away for matters of the state that have always been more important than her.

James senses her distress and tries to distract her. “Perhaps His Majesty has a surprise for you that is keeping his attention longer than he desires.” He tells her, pulling out her chair and pushing her in. He steps away but examines everyone in the room with great caution.

The servants from the kitchens spread out through the room to serve the supper. The first of them pour water and glasses of deep, thick, red wine. Platters of fruits, vegetables, and breads are set around the table. The last servant enters with the largest platter, covered. It is placed in the center of the table, and the servant places his hand on the handle.

“Happy birthday, your Royal Highness.” The man hisses with a wicked smile before lifting the cover.

There’s a long silence, far much longer than normal for a situation like this.

And then the only thing that can be heard throughout the palace are the sounds of eight women’s blood-curdling screams.

On the platter, the King’s head sits with an apple in his mouth, like a suckling pig. The jagged neck stump still oozes blood. James realizes that the King’s blood must have been poured into the glasses as the women hastily move away from the table, spilling the red liquid all over the plate settings and the bottom of their skirts.

James is the first to draw his sword when the invaders reveal themselves from their disguises. They begin drawing knives from their boots and sleeves. James’ first and only instinct and duty is protecting Princess (Y/N). She’s holding on to her sister, still staring at her father’s severed head in horror, unaware of the danger around her. James runs to her.

“Your Highness!” He shouts to her trying to gain her attention away from the head. “Your Highness please!” he shouts again, this time cupping her jaw. “You must go to your bedroom. Hide in the safe room. Do not come out for anyone but me.”

The young princess is hyperventilating and her ears ring so loud she can barely make out his words.

“Do you understand, your Highness? Run!” He yells, turning around to stab one of the disguised servants in the gut. “Go!” he yells to her, one final time before focusing his strength and attention on the enemies in the dining room. (Y/N) tries to take the hand of her nearest sister and pull her along, but she is grabbed by one of the savages and they are ripped away from each other. (Y/N) watches in horror as the man brings the knife up to her sister’s throat. James stabs him through the heart.

James, already heavily covered in blood that is not his own, shouts to his princess one last time. “Go! I will protect them, (Y/N)!” He yells. There is no time to use her formal title and it is one of the handful of times James has ever spoken her name. For some reason, that’s what terrifies her enough to run out of the room. It is what brings her to leave the fate of her family in James’ hands. He is a skilled swordsman, no doubt—but there are so many of them and only one of him. Three of her sisters’ personal guards already lay dying, choking on their own blood. (Y/N) feels like a coward for leaving her sisters and mother behind, but she knows that if she stays, she could die. Her eyes produce tears as if they were waterfalls. She is still hyperventilating and can barely move in a straight line. She has to stop and vomit in the corridor. Finally, she makes it to her bedroom wing and she feels a shred of safety on the horizon.

(Y/N) runs to her chambers, locking the door behind her and then running to the fireplace where there is a false panel to the side of it. Pushing it open and closing it behind her, she sits and waits. The only sound that cuts through the silence is her own broken sobs. She cannot hear anything for what feels like hours, but the reality is only a mere twenty minutes pass before she can hear her bedroom door being broken open and quick footsteps enter. She’s terrified that they’ll find her, but when the invader speaks, she feels a wave of relief wash over her.

“Your Royal Highness? Are you in here?” a voice calls out. Its owner is not James, but it’s still familiar. She quickly reveals her hiding place and steps out from behind the panel. Prime Minister Stark stands in her room. She runs to him in a panic and hugs him.

“Lord Stark. Please, you must tell me what happened. What of my mother and sisters?”

“Your Highness I—”

Suddenly, James storms into the room with his sword raised, its tip going straight to Stark’s throat. His eyes are filled with fury, his armor dripping with blood as proof that he will not hesitate to cut him down where he stands. “You will do well to step away from the Princess or I will have your head!”

“James, it is only I, Lord Stark.”

“How am I to know you are not one of those traitorous bastards?” James says, placing more pressure against Stark’s neck. But then, the Princess pushes his arm the other way and forces him to lower his weapon before throwing herself in his arms.

“Oh James, I was so very afraid. Please tell me that my family is safe.” She sobs. “Please tell me they did not suffer the same fate as poor dear Papa.”

James is silent for a moment, allowing himself to think through his next words carefully, as they will decide his fate. James pulls out of the hug, holding his Princess’ hands before sinking to his knee in front of her, unsheathing and then holding out his still-bloody sword to her.

Her heart sinks as well—for there are only two reasons a knight would fall to his knees in front of a royal:

One, when he is kneeling out of respect for her position.

Two, when the knight has failed a royal greatly, and must ask for forgiveness. If the royal does not grant forgiveness, punishment then befalls the knight in whatever manner the royal family seems fit.

It is clear which of the two scenarios they face now. The young princess’ lip already quivers, and James has yet to speak a word.

James looks down at the floor in shame. He swallows, thick and slow. “Your Royal Highness—I, James, of the peasant House Barnes, swore an oath many years ago to protect you and all you hold dear with my life. On this somber day, I have failed to execute my one and only duty. I kneel before you today to ask you for your mercy and forgiveness, as I—"

 “Will you not look at me when you break my heart?”

James watches as two stray tears land on the wood floor in front of him. He looks up slowly. Her lip is still quivering, and she looks as if she’s aged a decade and he has not even delivered the terrible news. The sadness in her eyes causes his heart to ache.

“I kneel before you today, to ask you for your mercy and forgiveness…as I—I could not protect your family, my Princess. I have failed to prevent their deaths. I take full responsibility for such a tragedy and surrender myself unto your grace.”

 “How many?” she sobs out. James doesn’t answer her immediately and she lashes out. “How many!”

“Princess—you are…you are all that is left.” He whispers up to her. James could see her heart break in her eyes. Could see her entire world crumble to ashes in those eyes, that have always been so full of life and sparkle. He sees no life in them now.

With a broken whisper, she demands him to stand up. He does so, keeping eye contact and still holding out his sword to her. Her resolve breaks and the sadness turns to unfiltered anger. She slaps the sword out of his hands, slicing her palm in the process and then slaps him across the face with the same hand. Her blood paints his cheek. He stands at attention, unmoving, while she assaults him with a broken heart. She hits him in the eye, splits his lip, and hits him so hard in the nose he can begin to feel blood running down over his mouth.

Stark is the one to stop her from hitting him again. “Your Highness—”

“Get out.” She yells to James, looking him dead in his eye. “Get out!”

James takes his leave without facing away from her, backing out of the room and shutting the door behind him. In the empty halls is where he’s finally able to let his emotions befall him. Disappointed is a kind word to use to describe how he’s feeling. In all the time he’s served her, he has never seen such a side in his princess. Never seen her harbor such hatred for him. The way she will look at him for the rest of her life will hurt far more than any injury. He can feel his eye begin to swell and the quiet tears that well in them only irritate the injury more.

Back inside the room, Stark allows the young Princess to cry into his coat for a number of hours until she is too weak to stay on her feet. Stark carries her to bed, still in her dirtied gown and then dresses the cut on her palm. Softly humming to himself to bring her some comfort.

“Princess?” he says when he’s finished dressing the wound. “I understand that now is a most distressing time for you, but there are matters that need be discussed.”

“What kind of matters?” she says, completely stoic and emotionless, her voice raspy from the crying.

“As you are now the only living member of the royal family, the crown falls on your head. We must first discuss the matters of the…funerals. Since it will be a state funeral, all sovereigns of the surrounding nations will be there. You must prepare accommodations for them and set a date.”

“I am in no mood to think of such things, Prime Minister. I give you permission to make the arrangements.”

Stark pauses in empathy. “Thank you, ma’am. Next is the matter of your regnal name. That is how you will style yourself during your reign.”

“This is a trivial matter. My name is (Y/N).” she says, frustrating clearly lacing her tongue. Stark takes it as a cue to leave. He stands.

“Then long live Queen (Y/N). May I do anything for you, your Majesty?”

To hear him refer to her as a queen does nothing for her grief. It feels unjust. Wrong. She looks down at her gown. “I would like to get out of this dress that has been stained with the blood of my father.”

Stark takes a step back and looks at her like he would like to offer her another hug. “I will send in your handmaidens.” He says, backing out of the room to find them.

A few moments later, they enter. One takes the new Queen to her bathroom, where she is stripped of her dirtied gown and lowered into warm water. They wash her skin, slow and cautious while she begins to cry again. The handmaidens work as if the sobs are nothing more than white noise. It is not their place to react to her emotions.

James is back in his private room, washing off the blood that has caked onto his skin and his armor in a small washbasin on the ground. The water is red by the time he is done. There is a knock at the door and one of (Y/N)’s handmaidens enters the room silently. She sets James’ sword on the floor in front of the door and leaves as quickly as she enters. He did not feel it was his place to retrieve it from the floor when (Y/N) dismissed him from her presence.

James moves to pick up his sword. It was a gift from the King himself. A gift he was given after breaking her heart.

The first time, at least.

If the King could see him now, he would confiscate the sword from James—maybe even shove it into his gut. He looks at that sword now, clean from the blood, and sees a reflection of a failed man. A man unworthy of such a fine weapon. A man unworthy of a King’s respect, as he once put it.

James places the sword back in the sheathe and detaches it from his waist. He then places it in the original box he keeps under his bed, and locks it with the key. He redresses in his armor, clips an old sword to his waist and grabs his box before leaving the room to guard the princess’ rooms while she sleeps. Or tries to.

But as James walks there, he slows his stride and realizes that she’s no longer his princess. She’s his Queen. A scenario none of them ever expected, and a situation that came about in the most traumatic of ways for her. James will never stop blaming himself for it.

He reaches the door and places his sword in front of it as an offering to his new queen, a token of his sincerity. Then, he stands at attention guarding her door with every ounce of dignity he has left. A few moments later, a handmaiden exits the room after putting the Queen to bed and trips on the box. She gives James a look of annoyance and then takes the box back into the room before leaving again. James waits quietly as (Y/N)’s bloodcurdling sobs slowly drift off into sniffles and whimpers.

*****

A lone horseman bearing royal colors rides into the village just as the sun begins to set.

A black armband is wrapped around his right arm. A symbol of tragedy.

The people already gather around him to hear the somber news. Some of them already weep, understanding that their King has taken his last breath.

The horseman dismounts and stands in the village square, pulling a piece of parchment from his sleeve and rolling it out so that he may read aloud:

“From the office of our most noble Prime Minister, Lord Anthony Stark, this proclamation is to be heard across the kingdom!” he yells out so that the surrounding crowd can hear him. “ _It is with the sincerest regret that I must deliver this most unfortunate and devastating news: our beloved members of the Royal Family have been attacked in their home by violent traitors. His Majesty the King is only survived by Her Royal Highness, Princess (Y/N), whom on this very day reached the distinguished age of eighteen. Therefore, it is with great sadness but glorious memory of our late sovereign that we, members of Parliament and the people of the nation, proclaim the High and Mighty Princess (Y/N) (Y/M/N), now by right of blood and birth, Her Majesty, Queen (Y/N) the First. May she be blessed with long and happy years to reign over us as we a nation recover from this most atrocious tragedy. God save the Queen_.”

The horseman nails the proclamation to a post, and the people gather to sob.

The news is worse than any of them could have imagined, and a great storm-cloud of sorrow sits over the entire village. The people are unsure of what to do with themselves—unsure of how to move on after such a tragic proclamation.

But by midnight, the front gates of the palace are adorned with letters and flowers; offering tribute and condolences to their new, most beloved young Queen.

*****

In the early morning, while the moon is still high in the sky, the door opens into James’ back. He stumbles and moves out of the way before opening the door. (Y/N) slowly takes a few steps into the hall in her nightgown. She looks at James like she wants to say something but chooses instead to ignore him and run down the hallway.

James knows exactly where she is going and follows her far enough behind to give her privacy but close enough to intervene if she needs it.

The heartbroken young queen enters her mother’s room. At the foot of the bed, sits a quilt that has been in the family for generations. (Y/N) was swaddled in the thin fabric as a baby, and always had the blanket trailing behind her as a child. Always begged for it when she had a nightmare or when she was sick. The blanket was comfort and safety as a child and she needs that feeling now more than ever. She takes the blanket in her hand, walks out of the room with it trailing behind her, and makes her way to the dining hall.

James stops her when she reaches the closed door by gently blocking her path with his arm and holding her shoulder. She doesn’t look at him, just stares at the door and looks particularly crossed that he dared to touch her.

“Your Majesty…” the title feels unnatural rolling off his tongue, but does not dwell on it. “Please do not force yourself to face the horrors within those walls before you are ready. I cannot bear the sight of your suffering.”

She turns to face him. “ _You_ cannot bear to watch me suffer? Do you really mean to imply that I should not suffer because you will?”

James shakes his head. “Of course not, My Princess, I only meant—”

“I am your  _Queen_  now.” She corrects him. “And as your Queen I am more than capable of making my own decisions. Should I want your opinion on my emotional state I will  _ask_   _for_   _it_.”

James stands down, lowering his hands to his side and stiffening his posture. “Of course, your Majesty. My sincerest apologies.”

He opens the door for her.

(Y/N) did not know what she was expecting when she entered the dining room. Of course, by nightfall the remaining servants would have cleaned up the mess and returned the room to its spotless state. It’s as if the worst tragedy to befall the royal family in the history of the country did not happen just a few short hours earlier. Perhaps (Y/N) wished to torture herself by burning the image of her slain family into her mind forever. Whatever the reason she felt the need to enter that room, it’s now satisfied.

“James?” (Y/N) whispers into the dark. She does not want to talk to him, but he is the only one who’s _there_.

“Yes, your Majesty?”

“Will I be expected to eulogize them? At the funeral?” She asks, and the scoffs to herself. “ _Funerals_.”

“You do not have to do anything if you do not wish to. I am sure the other Kings and Queens of the world will understand your hesitance.”

She doesn’t answer him, but instead grips her quilt a bit tighter and walks slowly back to her rooms to try and take advantage of what little hours of sleep remain in the night.

****

“It is time to wake up, your Majesty.” A handmaiden gently coos to (Y/N).

The new queen’s eyes are puffy and swollen, and a headache clouds her mind. It has now been two full days since her parents and sisters were murdered in their own home. Today, there will be a funeral held for the eight fallen members of the royal family and then at sundown there will be a coronation ceremony. (Y/N) feels as though she is drowning in a sea of her own sorrow.

She sits up in her bed and the blankets are pulled off of her and slippers are placed on her feet so that they do not feel a chill while she gets ready.

“The first of your guests are arriving, your Majesty. The others have sent word that they’ve crossed the borders and will be here soon.” One of her ladies informs her.

“Who is still missing?”

“Only the King of Sokovia and the Queen of Southern Wakanda. But of course, their capitals are furthest from yours. Your private secretary, Lord Pierce has also sent word that he will be arriving late on account of some personal business.”

(Y/N) sighs with frustration. “Of all the days to be tardy due to his personal endeavors…”

Her maiden acknowledges her frustration with a nod, but it is not her place to give her opinions on members of parliament without express verbal request from her Queen. She continues to tighten (Y/N)’s corset and make sure she looks as dignified as any sovereign should.

(Y/N) is dressed in a black silk gown, a black shawl resting in the crook of her elbows. A headpiece with a black veil shields her face. She is escorted by the Prime Minister to the main hall where the present Kings all wait to meet a new sovereign. All three men turn to face the doors when they open, abandoning their private conversation amongst each other.

(Y/N) does her best to prove to them that she is ready for the crown by keeping her head up. Looking at the floor is a sign of weakness. No one wants to see a weak Queen. She’s shaking underneath her veil. Stark stops them in the middle of the room.

“Your Majesty, King Thor of Asgard.” He announces, as Thor respectfully bows and kisses her hand before stepping back again. Last time Thor saw her, she was just a bratty little child. It must be quite a bit of a shock to him to see her so burdened at such a young age.

 “King T’Challa of Northern Wakanda.” Stark announces again, this time a tall man with lean muscle and deep, smooth skin that radiates with a golden glow approaches her.

He steps forward and takes her hand to kiss her knuckles. “Allow me to offer my condolences, your Majesty. Please believe me when I tell you I understand the pain you are feeling.” He says with a soft sincerity in his husky accent. He stands tall again and (Y/N) offers him an appreciative yet somber smile. King T’Challa lost his father in a terrible accident as well, a political assassination. His is the first condolence that makes it seem like this is not just a time of transitioning power. He recognizes that it is a time of terrible loss. A time of heartbreak. It is both comforting and unfortunate that others share such tragedies.

“Thank You, King T’Challa.” He bows his head and then steps back.

“King Steven of Midgard.”

Of all of the Kings and Queens in the land, (Y/N) has already met King Steven, once, when she was still a child. He is almost twice her age, but his father and her father were great friends before their passing. (Y/N)’s father always spoke highly of the Midgardian Kings. King Steven has a confidence about him that is not shadowed by arrogance the way she expected. His eyes hard and blue, yet she can see past the façade to a locked away softness. He bows and kisses her knuckles as well. His hand is so warm that it brings heat to her cheeks. She is glad her true emotions are somewhat masked behind a veil.

Just then, another King arrives, stumbling through the doors of the room. The room instantly tenses up.

King Brock of Sokovia.

He walks into the main hall, visibly drunk on wine and (Y/N) wonders how he didn’t fall off his horse on the way here. It is a great offence to be inebriated at such a time. He stumbles towards the Queen with a nasty smile and is not announced nor given permission before grabbing her hand harshly and kissing it, causing her to stumble into him. Then, as he postures up again, he touches the Queen’s chest to fix her mother’s necklace which has twisted in the commotion. He licks his teeth and rubs his fingers down to the top curve of her breast.

“You’re not wearing my necklace, little one.”

In an instant, a sword is at his neck.

“You dare touch a virgin Queen with perverted hands?” King Steven threatens with his sword digging into the delicate flesh of King Brock’s throat. (Y/N) has never seen such quick sword work before, not even from James. But James’ sword isn’t absent from Brock’s body. His sword rests below his belt, threatening to cut off that which makes a man. King T’Challa’s sword points at his right hand where King Thor’s points as his left.

King Brock laughs and licks his teeth again and then flickers his eyes to King Steven. “Don’t pretend that pretty skin wasn’t begging for your touch.”

“I will not dishonor a woman by entertaining an answer to that.” He hisses through gritted teeth, digging his sword enough to draw blood from King Brock’s throat.

The sight of blood is far too sickening for (Y/N) to bear so soon after her family’s deaths. “For heaven’s sake! Lower your weapons!” She shouts. “I will not have blood shed on this day in my name!”

The four men sheathe their swords and finally, Queen Shuri of Southern Wakanda is announced. (Y/N), without patience for the formalities at the moment asks the Queen to take a walk with her, to which she happily obliges. Women have an invisible and silent language between them, and (Y/N) is thankful her mother raised her to be fluent in it.

The two women walk with their arms looped into the back gardens of the palace as if they are lifelong friends.

“Forgive my rudeness, Queen Shuri, I could not bear to be in a room with those men any longer.”

“I understand, your Majesty. Though my brother is a good man, his protective nature is a welcome absence in Southern Wakanda.”

“May I inquire into your personal life, Queen Shuri?” (Y/N) asks nervously. Shuri nods for her to continue. “You have been Queen for many years, yet you still have no husband. How do you manage your duties? Does your government not pressure you into marriage? I’m afraid I was never meant to be _the_ Queen. _A_ queen, perhaps, but there is a difference between _a_ queen and _the_ Queen. Everywhere I go it seems there is a man just waiting to give me his advice. I expect my government will not tolerate my rule without a husband for very long. They hardly waited until I was eighteen to begin placing wagers on who I’d be married off to.”

The Queen of the South laughs. “Wakanda is not like the other nations of the world, Majesty. Women are not pretty accessories at our husband’s sides. We are sovereigns. We are councilmembers. We are warriors. We are limited only by our personal ambitions. Marriage is a union for love in Wakanda—not a union of convenience.”

“That sounds like a world I imagined when my Mama would tell me fairytales.” (Y/N) scoffs to herself.

“Wakanda is no fairytale, your Majesty. Perhaps the world will catch up with our ways one day, but until then, I am sorry that the men of the surrounding kingdoms disregard your suffering as they try to win your heart in such a difficult time.”

“Not all men, Queen Shuri. Your brother was very sensitive to my situation. I appreciate his and your hospitality. It is clear King T’Chaka, may he rest in peace, raised two fine children.”

“Thank you for saying that. Our father was loved dearly.”

“Do you visit Northern Wakanda often?” (Y/N) asks.

“Not often. My work keeps me busy most of the time. My father put a great emphasis on my education, and it has done well for my country. The South is climaxing with industry right now.”

(Y/N) scoffs again. “You received a proper education as well? I grow more envious of you every passing moment.”

“Did you not receive an education?”

“My father would have a fit if I was learning about numbers and the sciences instead of nursery duties and watercolors. My eldest sister…she’s the only one who got an education, but it was really only for matters of government. We are lucky we can do basic addition.”

Queen Shuri looks at her completely shocked, but unsurprised. “We truly do come from different worlds. I hope your reign will be more… _progressive_ than your predecessors.”

(Y/N) sighs. “I hope so too.”

Their conversation is respectfully interrupted by Lord Stark. “Pardon my interruption, your Majesties. It is time.”

(Y/N) knows that it is now time to give her family their last rites and lay them to rest. She denies an escort to the royal crypt and Stark instead offers his hand to Queen Shuri. The chamber is filled with the most important figures from all over the world, and they silence themselves when the mournful Queen enters the room.

As tradition dictates, the visitors must sing in chorus during the funeral. (Y/N) offers a single rose to each coffin, and kisses the cool wood before moving on. She is slow and methodical with her respects, telling each sister how much she loved them, and how sorry she is for everything that has happened. Sorry she wasn’t there when they took their last breaths. When she reaches her parents at the head of the arrangement, her eyes manage to brew more tears, even though she’s been terribly dehydrated from crying. She remembers her father’s head being served to her, the image of the sick demonstration will never leave her mind. She can only imagine that all of her family suffered a similar fate, as all of the coffins lie closed and nailed shut. She tells them that she will do absolutely everything she can to be a Queen they can be proud of.

(Y/N) does not want to sob in front of the world. She does not want her first impression as a Queen to be broken and weak. She wipes away her tears with a handkerchief that belonged to her father and announces: “I would like to bury them now.”

She moves out of the way so that their coffins can be lowered into the holes in the ground. She stands silently in between King Steven and Queen Shuri. James stands on the opposite side of the room but keeps a watchful eye on the young Queen, looking for any sign that she needs his help. He desperately wishes to hold her while she cries—but he is painfully aware he will never have such an honor. Her father is buried last, and as soon as the first shovelful of dirt is deposited back into the hole, the King of Sokovia loudly announces that he can finally slip away for more wine, and (Y/N) hastily runs out of the crypt, which is met with more scandalous whispers than King Brock’s demonstration. Emotion is less tolerated than severe disrespect. James finds it vulgar.

He leaves the crypt and finds her hidden a ways away, bent over and heaving behind a tree. James approaches cautiously and rubs soft circles on her back and holds her dress out of the way for her. She is bilious from the emotion, and empties anything left in her stomach from the last three days. She begins to gasp for air.

“Please, your Majesty, breathe. You must relax or you will continue to be sick.” He coos to her, steadying her as she leans against the tree for support.

King Steven is the first to leave the crypt to check on the absence of the Queen. He finds her and her guard behind a tree. From the angle and the concealment of the tree, they almost seem to be committing most sinful acts. However, as he moves closer, he sees the Queen bent over simply because she is sick and quickly turns his back as to not embarrass her while she is indisposed.

“Apologies, your Majesty. I did not mean to disturb.” He says into the air.

(Y/N) sighs. “Please James, make sure no one else sees me like this.” She wipes her mouth with her handkerchief and begins to leave.

“But—” he protests.

“ _Now_ , James.”

“Yes, my Queen.” He says, bowing and walking away, giving the King a dangerous warning glare as they pass.

King Steven waits a few moments for privacy before turning around to find the Queen silently walking away several yards away from him. He hastens his pace to catch up to her.

“Majesty, may I offer some assistance?” He says, noticing the slight sway in her step and the labored breathing. She shakes her head at first, but after a moment realizes she will not make it back to her chambers without help. She hesitates but concedes and loops her arm with his. They walk in tense silence for a while, until they get to the palace and begin towards her wing. “I have something for you.” He says, pulling out an ivory-colored envelope from his coat pocket. (Y/N) immediately notices her father’s seal on it and takes it from him. “Your father wrote me this many years ago. I was going to tell you what it said myself, but after some thought, I believe it is not my place and it is better that I allow him to tell you in his own words.” They come to a stop in front of her rooms. “Now please, allow yourself some rest. I cannot bear the sight of you ill as well as heartbroken.”

King Steven leans down to kiss her hand and then leaves her looking after him perplexed. James comes running down the hallway at the same time, a wave of relief washing over him when he sees the Queen unharmed. James stops Steven in the hallway.

“If you are _ever_ the reason I question her Majesty’s whereabouts again—"

“You dare threaten a King, boy?” Steven hisses back.

“You are not  _my_  King.” James says.

“Not yet, perhaps.” Steven whispers, before pulling his arm out of James’ grasp and walking away, leaving him in a state of shock and anger. James shakes it off and takes his post outside the (Y/N)’s rooms.

Inside, she opens the letter Steven gave her. She recognizes her father’s handwriting instantly.

_King Steven,_

_I am sorry to hear about the passing of your father, as we were close friends. He was a great man, no doubt passing on his most admirable traits to you. I offer my condolences as well as any services that I can provide for you in the coming years while you take your place as King. I would like our kingdoms to remain strong allies._

_It is my understanding that all good kings need a wife to bore his children, and ensure his bloodline remains on the throne. Your father tells me that you are not perhaps gifted in understanding the fairer sex, but I can assure you that there is no need for a man of your status to engage in unnecessarily long courting practices._

_As I’m sure you are aware, I have seven daughters. My eldest will always be the heir apparent to my throne and I would not humor myself in suggesting that you should abdicate your position to sit by her side. The next five eldest have already begun to engage in courtship with various other nobles around the world. That leaves my youngest daughter (Y/N)._

_You have met her once before, after your victories at the battles of York, when we rejoiced in your prowess in combat. (Y/N), even as a young child, admired your compassion for the innocent people of Sokovia whom did not participate in such barbaric demonstrations of protest during that time of unrest._

_Your father asked me if she was to be married to another. I said to him: “she is not promised to anyone.”_

_At least, she previously was not._

_Before his death, your father and I had agreed that in order to keep the union between our kingdoms strong, and since you are the only heir to your throne, it would only benefit you as a man and a ruler to have a beautiful young woman at your side as queen consort._

_I am sure you will have reservations about such a proposal as you are of significant years whereas she is still young. However, I promise you that she will not be made aware of this arranged marriage until her twenty-first birthday, where we have set a date for a ball to be had in celebration and announcement of her engagement to you. I believe that she will then be at an age to marry you and will allow her to demonstrate the maturity the Other Place requires, and yet she will be young enough to still have many childbearing years with you. You will father beautiful children with her, and love her in ways she only dreams of._

_She is lonely. She is quiet. And I regret that I must admit I have failed to provide the love of a father in a way that will allow her to choose a suitor on her own wisely—believe me when I tell you that her previous choice could have destroyed my monarchy. I have faith in you that you will treat her as the Queen she was born to be, even if it wasn’t for her own kingdom._

The letter is signed off with the seal of _His Majesty the King_ , as if it was a simple matter of state and not a further demonstration of the fact that she was nothing more than his property.

(Y/N) drops the letter on her desk and rubs her temples in frustration.

An arranged marriage.

She supposes she should have expected it. Her father always said she would be married to a powerful king. She was always told she would be a queen, one way or another. It is not surprising that her father would have made such arrangements long before she reached womanhood. It is also not surprising that it was King Steven whom she was promised to, as even though he is significantly older than her, he is still the youngest King of the current monarchies. Her father always wanted to put his descendants on every throne in the world. Midgard would have been an excellent place to start.

King Steven is easy on the eyes, and thus far has carried himself honorably and respectfully. She has no grievances against him. She worries still, about her kingdom. She is the only living heir and cannot abandon her people at such a time. Perhaps he understood this and that is why he gave her the letter—to warn her of a coup that would put a regent on her throne after she is married off to the King of Midgard. The thought of the political atmosphere in the coming months is already a source of stress for the young Queen.

There is a knock at the door. Lord Stark enters and bows.

“Your Majesty, it is time for you to begin your preparations for the coronation ceremony.”

(Y/N) stands as he moves to leave and stops him. “Lord Stark, if I may have a word?”

“Of course.” He replies, closing the door behind him for privacy.

“I promise I will not take up much of your time.” She takes a few steps towards him. “Did you know?” she asks, and Stark cocks his head in curiosity. “Did you know my father promised me to King Steven?”

Stark curtly nods. “I did. Your father was rather proud that the late King of Midgard agreed to such a proposal.”

She moves to look out the window of her rooms, where she can see King Steven walking through the gardens below with the King of Wakanda. “What do you know of him?”

“He is skilled in the art of combat. His trials are legendary.”

“A dear friend once told me not to dwell on legends. They only bring… _disappointment_.” She whispers to herself.

“Ma’am?”

She turns back to face him. “I know of his trials. I meant…as a man. What do you know of him?”

Stark scoffs to himself. “He is not cruel or perverted like…other suitors.” He says, alluding to King Brock’s behavior this morning and during the funeral. “Stubborn, I will admit, but he is not above reason. He is not above compassion. He is highly respected by his people.”

(Y/N) looks at him with gratitude as he always knows the words she wants to hear. She wanted him to confirm that she was not promised to a man that will treat her poorly. “Thank you, Lord Stark. You may send in my maidens, now.”

Stark bows and exits the room. She calls out for her James, who enters the room quickly, standing at attention with the door ajar.

“Majesty?” He asks, clearing his throat and waiting for a command. (Y/N) doesn’t answer him, and walks to her desk where a narrow box sits. She unlocks it with the key and holds up a beautiful sword. She walks back over to James who continues to stare at a spot on the wall.

“Will you not look at me, James?” she asks, and he slowly moves his eyes from the wall to her sparkling irises. “Kneel.” She softly commands, and he sinks down on one knee, still keeping full eye contact with her. She unsheathes the sword. She takes a small step backwards and then places the flat edge of the tip on James’ shoulder. She taps once, and then places the sword on the other shoulder and taps once more.

“If I can never find it in my heart to forgive you, I can still thank you for your loyalty. You could have packed your belongings and left the palace—and in my grief I admit I likely would not have noticed…or cared. You stayed, however, because you knew that took more courage than leaving. And because you made me a promise, years ago, that if you could not love me, you would never leave me. You have always upheld that promise. My father was a good judge of men, and I have seen why he bestowed this gift to you. There is no other person more deserving of this sword.”

(Y/N) holds out the hilt towards James, giving him permission to take it. He hesitates, but under the gaze of his Queen, he understands that he should be grateful for her mercy and grace—he’s asked for it, after all. He takes the sword and sheathe and attaches them back to his waist. He stands again and bows towards her in respect and with gratitude.

While he’s bent at the waist, (Y/N) wraps her hands around the back of his neck and leans into him, placing a featherlight kiss to his forehead.

The feeling of her lips against his skin is a sensation he will never allow himself to forget.

*****

_“Will you solemnly promise to govern this nation and her people, according to the established laws and customs of the land? Will you in your power uphold law and justice, with mercy, in all of your judgements? Will you sit upon your throne and execute your power with the integrity and honesty of your predecessor His Majesty the King, and his predecessors before him? Will you behold your subjects with grace and dignity? Will you promise your reign be fair and true, refined and pure, and balance these progressive times with the traditional values this country was built on?”_

_“All of this I solemnly promise so to do.”_

*****

In the twilight hours of the afternoon, (Y/N) has been officially crowned Queen. The ceremony was emotional for her, as this day was not one she had ever expected to experience herself, but she did not allow herself to cry. Not even a mist in her eyes. She kept her head high, her posture poised as the ceremonial state crown was placed atop her head and the entirety of the country stood and bowed to _Her Majesty the Queen_.

Once the ceremonial regalia is removed and placed back into protected storage, she is left dressed in her thick, long, white silk state dress. She’s never had an occasion to wear such a fine gown before. She was hoping to wear it to her eldest sister’s coronation one day. But that was stolen from her, and now she has had to effectively take her sister’s place.

(Y/N) always wished that she could have a different life.

 _This_ is not what she meant.

After the ceremony, she walks to the drawing room near her private suite and sits at the piano. She languidly presses a key. And then another. In no particular order or tune. A tear falls from her eyes every time she presses a note. She cries in silence. Alone.

She always felt alone, when she was growing up. Held a small amount of resentment in her heart for her family for making her feel that way. And she realizes only now that they’re gone, how grossly wrong she was.

Loneliness is not the absence of attention, as her naïve heart made her believe. Loneliness is realizing that she no longer has attention to take for granted.

Steven followed the sound of a sad piano all the way to the drawing room. He leans against the doorway and watches the new Queen fill the room with a silent melancholy and out of tune notes. James stands next to him inside the door, watching his Queen carefully. (Y/N) has always been a bit…dramatic when she’s upset. James does not want her to jeopardize her decorum so early on in her reign. Steven looks at James and then back at (Y/N), taking a cautious step towards her.

For such a large man, his footsteps make little sound as he approaches from behind her. He sits at the piano next to her and begins to complete her key presses with more flourish and melody. (Y/N) peaks up at him from behind her wet eyelashes. She watches his facial expressions change with the music he plays. He furrows his brow when he concentrates. Even hardness looks gentle on him.

“You play beautifully, Steven.” She says quietly to him. His face softens with a grin for a beat, and the furrows his brow again.

“My mother once said I had an artist’s hands.” He says while playing a final note. “I took it as a literal interpretation: painting and drawing. But I know now that not all art is visible. She loved music. I have a painting of her hanging above my piano in my own palace. I play to her sometimes.”

“That is very sweet, Steven.”

He looks at her and smiles. “May I ask you to join me in the courtyard? I have something to show you.”

“Oh, Steven…” she excuses, “…I would love to. But it has been a very long day, you see. I am quite tired.”

“I understand.” He concedes. “I promise it will only take a moment.”

“Alright.” She says, standing up. Steven places his arm to his stomach to create a loop for her to put her arm through. He leads her to the front courtyard. A beautiful, large, pure-white stallion stands on the pavement next to King Steven’s horse, waiting to meet its new master.

“Good gracious!” (Y/N) exclaims, holding her hand to her chest.

“A gift…fit for a Queen.” King Steven says, looking down to her. He is more than surprised to find a smile on her face. (Y/N) lifts up her gown to make her way down the steps to run her hands over its shiny mane and rub its face. The stallion seems to melt into her touch. James watches carefully and reminds himself of the magic that radiates from her. Something about her brings such comfort to others. It is a spell.

“He’s beautiful, King Steven.” She laughs. “Would you ride with me?”

The King raises his brow at her sudden change in mood, but then he smiles at her. “I think it is a beautiful night for a ride, your Majesty.”

He holds out a hand so that he can help her onto the horse, hoisting her up to the saddle with ease. He then mounts his own saddle and leads them off towards the forest. James runs hastily to the stables for his own horse and follow them to keep an eye on his queen, while she rides in the moonlight next to a man who was born to be worthy of her love. It will be the most torturous fate of a man—for the world to deny him a love he so desperately desires and force him to watch another have it.

(Y/N) and the King trot slowly along the tree line, not wishing to get lost in the forest tonight. Her voice cuts through the sound of the soft breeze.

“Will you tell me about Midgard, Steven? I have not been there since I was a child. I remember very little.”

“Well, as I’m sure you’ve observed by the stallion you are riding, we raise the finest horses in all the kingdoms near the border of Asgard where the climate is more suitable for them to thrive. Nearly every horse in your army comes from Midgard—Colonel James Rhodes rides the only other white stallion in the world.” He says, clearly proud of the fact.

(Y/N) laughs. “What an honor it is to be a matching pair with the most respectable man in my country.”

“Indeed. Midgard is, however, not like the other nations where summers are hot and winters are mild. The cities are built high up in the mountains for protection, and it is almost always harsh and bitter and cold. It is said that our horses are so hearty because they were raised to be accustomed to such harsh living conditions. It is not a land for the faint of heart.”

“I have never known anything other than warmth from my country. Even in the harshest of winters bite with only a light chill.”

Steven laughs softly. “Do not fret, your Majesty. Should you decide to join me in Midgard I will ensure you feel only warmth. Have you ever worn fox fur? The bitter chill will never touch your skin, I guarantee it.”

“Should I decide to join you? We are promised, Steven. My decision means nothing.” (Y/N) says, smoothing out a strand of hair on her stallion’s mane.

Steven stops his horse and the well-trained white stallion stops its stride as well. “(Y/N)…” Steven says softly, catching her full attention. “That was a promise made between two dead men. I would not hold you to words that did not come from your own heart.”

(Y/N) looks at him in disbelief. “Then why would you give me the letter? To mock my lack of freedom in these matters? To convince me that I was nothing more than a trophy my father looked to pass on?”

Steve laughs to himself, unoffended by her accusations. “You think so little of me. Did you not read his letter, young Queen? Your father wanted nothing for you but to find a worthy husband. He did not trust you with that decision, but I think he underestimated you.”

“Do you not consider yourself worthy, then, Steven?” (Y/N) asks, curiosity lacing her tongue.

He gives her a soft smile and reaches across the empty space between them to rub her cheek with the back of his knuckles. His touch sends heat to her cheeks. “I would not be so foolish as to declare myself a victor before I have fought the battle.”

James cannot hear what the King says from so far away, but the intimacy can be felt in his own heart when he watches him lean over and place a kiss to (Y/N)’s forehead the same way she kissed his own just a few hours before. James feels a pain in his chest that mimics the sharp sting of a sword piercing his heart. Deep.

The world continues to taunt him with visions of a love he cannot have.

“Steven may I ask you something?” (Y/N) asks after a long pause.

“Anything.” He whispers back.

“If we were…to marry…what would become of my people? Of my country?”

“Aye, you have a unique situation. If you were to marry under other circumstances, you would be expected to return to your husband’s kingdom to rule by his side. However, as there are no other heirs of your bloodline I would imagine you would be given one of two choices: to abdicate your throne and declare a regent so that you may be your husbands queen consort, or unify your husband’s kingdom and your own, and in such a case you would still be expected to become his consort.”

(Y/N) lightly clears her throat and motions for her horse to begin moving along the path again. “Is that really my only option? Give up my kingdom and my crown so that I may not have power equal to that of my husband?”

“Of course not, Majesty. I would be so bold as to promise you a peaceful unification of our kingdoms should you choose to marry me. We could rule  _one_  kingdom,  _together_ and _equally_. I do not wish for this declaration to pressure you into a marriage with me, but you are a Queen Regnant by blood. You should remain such and _would_ remain such if you married me and joined our kingdoms.”

(Y/N) looks at Steven, who is focused on the path ahead of them. She looks behind her to find James following at a safe distance for privacy. She does not wish to discuss the subject of marriage and titles any longer. “Would you allow me to visit Midgard? For leisure?”

“You may visit whenever your heart desires…for as long as you wish. I will keep a room ready for you. Your Prime Minister has informed me that you’ve always been rather fond of facing the east? To watch the sunrise? Yet your rooms have not allowed for such a view.”

(Y/N) smiles and looks down at her horse. “You are well informed, dear Steven.”

Steven is the one to smile now. He looks up at the sky and realizes how late it must be getting. “I have truly enjoyed our moonlight ride together, Majesty, but I am afraid it would be inappropriate of me to keep you from your slumber any longer.”

“Oh Steven, won’t you please join me for breakfast in the morning? Afterward there will be a ceremony as I give my first salute to the army. Would you be there?”

“How could I deny an invitation from such a lovely woman?”

“You think me lovely, King Steven?”

They reach the end of their ride and Steven helps her dismount her horse and hands the reins to the stable boys. He leans down to kiss her hand. “I think you many things, your Majesty. Lovely is only the beginning. Until morning, then?”

(Y/N) smiles. “Until morning.” She agrees. The King takes his leave and she’s left alone with James once more. “James?” she calls.

“Yes, your Majesty?”

She holds out her arm and he takes it, recognizing she would like an escort. “May I ask you a question of a more…personal nature.”

“I am an open book for you, ma’am.”

She wants to scoff at his formality. She misses the way her titles sounded endearing when they rolled off his tongue. “Do you think I will be a good wife?”

James hesitates his reply to her, even though his heart only screams one answer. “Your husband will be very lucky to call you his wife.”

“Do you speak the truth James?”

“I would never entertain the idea of lying to you.”

“Do you ever dream of a wife? And children?”

“You know that was never an option for me. Very seldom do I imagine a family in my future. I have been sworn to protect you with my life—there is little room for anything else in my heart.”

“I am sorry I have robbed you of such a life.” (Y/N) apologizes, sincerely. Her heart twists at the thought of him alone forever, though she’s known it was the oath he took on his own accord.

“I do not lament the absence of a family. I may have been chosen from among my peers to be offered this position, but I still agreed in the end. It was a life I chose for myself. I could not imagine a greater honor than serving her Majesty.”

“Even more honorable than a family?” she asks him.

“Even when I have tried so hard to deny it, you know that you are all I need in this world. There is no greater desire in my heart than having you in my life.” He says his truth so quietly he’s sure no one else will hear. She doesn’t answer him, but he knows her well enough to know she understands.

They arrive at her suite and she unloops her arm from his. “Good night, James. Don’t forget about the ceremony in the morning. As my Royal Protector you are to receive honors for serving the Queen. I expect you at my side in your service uniform.”

“I shall be there. Good night, your Majesty.” James says, opening the door for her and closing it softly once she enters. James breathes heavily. The ceremony was left to be forgotten in the back of his mind. Just yesterday, he could have been dismissed for his failure of service, and tomorrow morning, he’ll be given distinguished honors for his position. The award gives him absolute precedence over the entire army in times of crisis where the Queen is unable to preform her duties otherwise.

He does not feel worthy of such an award, but he is the only person who is able to receive it. He hopes that he will never have need to apply such a power over an army he was never a part of. It feels wrong.

Monarchies, and their obtuse rules. James isn’t sure how they keep up with it all.

All of (Y/N)’s handmaidens are well into their slumber right now and she doesn’t have it in her heart to wake them, so she manages to undress herself and changes into her long, white lace nightgown. Placing her dress on a table next to the door, something catches her eyes on her desk.

A large box, navy blue in color, embossed with gold letters: _THE QUEEN_.

She sighs. It seems that it is time for her duties as sovereign to begin. She does not feel tired enough to crawl into bed, the nerves keeping her mind full of thoughts, so instead she opens the box, placing her fountain pen and ink jar inside before closing it again and leaving her rooms. She travels down the hall to a table that is set up near a window, lit by the brightness of the full moon. For good measure, she asks a footman to bring her a candle so that she can see better.

She begins to read the letters inside, bouncing from one subject to another, but quickly gets frustrated with herself and her government. She never once expected to be Queen, never expected anyone to look to her for advice or permission or influence. For this reason, she often skipped her lessons or would make it a point not pay attention during council meetings with her father—always believing that she would never need to understand politics or war. She sighs loudly and shuffles the papers around, trying to find something she has the ability to understand with her current and rudimentary knowledge.

Her frustration must seep through the walls of the castle, because Steven wakes up and is drawn to the hallway outside of his guest room. He smiles at (Y/N), looking beautiful in the moonlight, lit up by a single candle flame. Her nose scrunches as she reads. He leans against the wall and observes her getting more and more upset with herself.

“I can feel your stress through the walls, your Majesty.” He says after watching her for a moment, deciding to help alleviate her frustration.

Steven’s voice startles her and she jumps in her seat. She smiles apologetically to him. “Oh, Steven, I’m sorry if I woke you.”

He shakes his head as a gesture to show there’s no need for apologies. “What are you doing up so late, young Queen?”

She sighs heavily. “I have _no_ idea.” She scoffs, tossing down the parchment in her hand back down on the table and rubbing her temples.

“I know how you feel.” He says, taking the other chair from the table and settling in it next to her. “After my father’s sudden passing, my own council had me addressing matters of the state before my father’s body had even gone cold. It is very overwhelming at first.”

She rests her hand lightly on his knee. “I am sorry.” She whispers.

“Don’t apologize. It is a reality we have all faced. Would you like some help?” She smiles at his offer and he begins to read and sort the letters into categories for her. He points to a pile. “These are from your military officers, many of them are from Colonel Rhodes. I put his towards the top and the others at the bottom as he would not trouble you unless it was important. This pile is from the various political parties of your government, requesting your endorsement on their respective endeavors—I suggest keeping out of politics as much as possible. Your current popularity will not translate to long-term security if you anger half you people. You have much power as Head of State, but I have learned from my own mistakes to execute that power wisely. This pile is from institutions like universities and hospitals asking to be graced with a visit. I—”

(Y/N) silences the king by leaning in and placing a soft kiss to his lips, which he returns without hesitation. He rests his hands on her cheeks to bring her lips closer to his. His kiss is slow, intimate. It’s not laced with lust—but with something she would imagine could be called love. She refuses to be the one to break the kiss—he pulls away only when he determines their need for air. Her lips are delicate, cheeks warm. She looks beautiful illuminated by the full moon. He can feel his heart swell when he notices the sparkle in her eyes when she looks at him.

“Come to Midgard with me in the morn after your ceremony, (Y/N). Come visit my castle. Let me build you a new one if you don’t find it to your liking. Let me give you the world.” He begs her, his words manifesting straight from his heart.

“Okay, Steven. I will come with you.” She says. He kisses her softly again. And again. And again. He peppers her lips with kisses until she’s nearly lulled to sleep in his arms, and then he carries her to bed.

With one last kiss to her forehead, she hums to him in a sleepy haze, and he leaves her until morning.

James pretends he did not just watch the love of his life fall for another man. He pretends he does not feel a tear escape his eye. He pretends he does not regret telling her he could never love her.

Because he does, and it pains him to watch her take his word for it.

*****

Morning arrives, and as agreed, (Y/N) and Steven share a private breakfast outside in the gardens. The other Kings and Queens were treated to their own feast before they depart back to their homes. They are not required to attend the ceremony. Steven only stays because he is asked and does not care to refuse (Y/N).

“I apologize if I seemed…forward last night.” Steve says, taking a sip of his warm tea.

(Y/N) giggles to herself. “I don’t think you were any more forward than I.” she says, referring to herself interrupting his sentence with a kiss.

“Still…I hope you don’t think it inappropriate of me to ask you to visit Midgard so soon. I let my enthusiasm cloud my good manners on occasion.”

“I’ve not been to Midgard in so long. I would be foolish to deny such an invitation. I’m sure no one needs an explanation as to why I might want some time away from here.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for bringing this up again, but I do not think I ever properly apologized for your loss. I cannot imagine the kind of pain you must be feeling.”

(Y/N) shifts in her seat awkwardly. Death does not tend to be a regular breakfast topic. “I only wish to make them proud.” She says. And then she looks at Steven. “I’m just not sure where to begin.”

“Today.” He says with conviction. Raising his brows. “At the ceremony. Your entire government will be there. Your army will be there. Your people will be there. And you will look out over your military, salute to them, and smile. Because it is your duty…” he rests his hand over hers, “…to make sure you never show them what a burden it is to sit on that throne. I cannot stress how important it is to prove to them, from day one, that you understand that being a Queen means more than wearing a crown.”

She places her other hand over his, and he follows to place his remaining hand over hers. She gives him a sad smile. “What would I do without you to guide me?”

He smiles back to her. “I assure you that you will need me less and less as time goes on.”

“I have to disagree with you, Steven. I feel I will always value your advice.”

James approaches and interrupts respectfully, holding out a letter to (Y/N). She takes it.

“Thank you, James.” She says, opening the letter and reading it. Without looking up, she says: “It seems Colonel Rhodes and his regiment have arrived. I wish to welcome him before he gets too preoccupied with setting up for the ceremony. Where is he?” She asks James by flickering her eyes up to him.

“I believe he is being greeted by the Prime Minister, ma’am.”

She looks to Steven apologetically, but he waves his hand to indicate there is no need. They stand together and he kisses her hand as she leaves. “Come, James. It is important that you meet Colonel Rhodes. I believe he is to help you draft my safety protocols. Best you get acquainted now.”

_Because what would I do without you to guard me?_

Inside the palace, near the front foyer, the Colonel is indeed being greeted by the Prime Minister. They bow as (Y/N) enters and Rhodes steps forward to greet her properly with a kiss to the hand.

“Your Majesty. Please allow me to offer my condolences for the tragedy you have experienced. It is an honor to be here today to swear allegiance to you.”

“The honor is mine, Colonel. My father spoke very highly of you and your most distinguished service record.” She gestures to her guardian standing next to her. “Colonel Rhodes, please meet Lord James, my Royal Protector. I expect you will be seeing much of each other from now on.”

Rhodes holds out a hand and James takes it to shake it. “Good, strong name you have, James. Her Majesty is right, of course. We are to be collaborating on her security. I value your input as I’m sure you know her Majesty better than anyone else.”  

“Yes.” James breathes with discomfort. Colonel Rhodes had no secondary meaning, but he is in constant fear that someone will find out about his affections and use it against her. “Her Majesty’s safety is very important to me.”

“If you will excuse me, gentleman, I must step away to prepare for the ceremony.” (Y/N) informs them.

They bow to her and she heads off towards her room, where a brand-new dress and the crown jewels await her. It is her first public presentation after the coronation—how she carries herself will set the tone for her entire reign. The importance of this moment cannot be understated.

As she’s getting ready, she takes Steven’s advice and practices her salute in the mirror. She wants to get it right, and is too embarrassed in her own ignorance to ask if she’s doing it properly. She curses herself for not paying attention to how her father conducted himself in these things.

Her corset is so tight she can barely breathe, and then she is shimmied into a navy-blue riding gown. Then, her ladies tie the thick cape with the family crest embroidered in gold around her shoulders. Finally, her mother’s more effeminate state crown is placed atop her head than the one used at her coronation. She stares at herself in the mirror. It all feels like she has been given a mantle that was never meant for her. She may be wearing a crown, but she doesn’t feel like a queen.

This is what Steven meant at breakfast. That she cannot show the people how scared she is. She cannot show how wrong it feels. She cannot show them that she was never meant to wear this crown.

James is waiting for her outside of her room. They both seem a little breathless when they see each other in such formal attire. James thinks she is the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. She looks every bit a queen to him. He knows her well enough to see how terrified she is behind the façade, but no one else would be able to tell.

James is dressed in his service uniform, as commanded. Navy blue, as is the color of the royal family. The only decoration he has is his badge of office—a golden ribbon with a solid gold six-pointed star, a symbol to his status as Royal Protector.

Today, he will receive a golden ribbon with a solid gold medallion with the family crest—highly distinguished honors that bestows him the authority over the army if necessary. He will also receive a white ribbon with navy blue stripes for every year of service to the royals—eight of them. (Y/N) sighs deeply. He has always been handsome in her eyes, but she hardly ever gets to see him in his service uniform.

He looks like he could stand at her side—be a king himself.

She smiles at him and he takes her hand in his, and he holds her arm up as they walk. A proper way to escort a queen to a state function. She giggles to herself as they’re walking because she can feel a shake in his grip. “If I didn’t know any better, James, I would say that you’re nervous.”

“Nervous? No. Truthfully, I am worried.”

“Worried? Whatever for?”

“I have never liked you exposed to large crowds. They are very unpredictable.”

She understands his concern, but doesn’t wish for him to worry. “Don’t be silly, James. I will be surrounded by the entire army, and you will be right at my side. We have nothing to fear.”

They arrive at the courtyard where her horse is waiting, alongside another large stallion which is unfamiliar to her. “Whose horse is that?” she asks aloud.

“You did not think that I would accept an invitation to attend such an event without returning the kindness?”

(Y/N) turns around and Steven is waiting for her with a large smile. He is also in apparel fit for a king at a state function. He looks incredible.

“Steven! You mean to say that you have gifted me another horse?”

“Well—not you, your Majesty, but your guardian.”

James stiffens. “M...Me? What of my other horse?”

“Don’t fret, Lord James.” Steven says, patting him on the shoulder. “Your horse is still waiting for you in the stables, but this, I believe, is a horse fit for a man of your position during state functions with her Majesty.”

“I am at a loss for words at your generosity, your Majesty.” James says coyly. Inside, he’s crossed that the King believes he can step in and begin replacing things he thinks are broken or unworthy.

Steven laughs. “Please. I have more horses than I know what to do with. It is a pleasure to gift them to those that deserve them.”

“How kind of you, Steven.” The Queen says, gently placing her hand on his bicep. “I am sorry to interrupt your conversation, but I am so glad to have caught you before the ceremony. I have a question I am afraid only you could answer without making me feel inadequate for asking.”

He cocks his head to the side. “I would be happy to assist you.”

She sighs in embarrassment. “Please…would you show me how to properly salute my troops? I don’t wish to offend them.”

Steven laughs and gently takes her right hand, wriggling it into the proper configuration and then holding it up to her head and adjusting her arm to the proper angle. “There. A perfect salute. Go on, try it.” He prompts. She does, and makes a small mistake on her arm placement. They laugh together and he continues to correct her. James walks to his new horse and rubs its snout. He offers a sugar cube to him.

“I fear she will replace me soon, as he has replaced my horse.” James whispers to the beast. It huffs as if it understands. “Just don’t buck me off, and I’ll send you some carrots and more sugar afterwards, yes?” The horse huffs again in agreeance and James pats it a few times before stepping into the stirrups and hopping onto the saddle.

He lets Steven assist (Y/N) onto her horse.

James has never been so jealous that someone else holds her attention in the way he used to. But he must not show it. It’s too late for their love, now. It’s always been too late.

Life is cruel. For all of them.

*****

_“Today, this becomes my army. My father was a soldier, and regarded the brave men who stand before me as some of the finest people he has ever met. This country has suffered a terrible tragedy, but never once have we let adversity stand in the way of our pride. That is why it is the honor of my life to have this role bestowed upon me. I am afraid my life’s breath is a debt I will never be able to repay, but I will certainly try. My first gift to you as a Queen is a bonus to each and every one of you, as well as an increase in pension to the widows of your brave comrades who fell defending my family and I on that dreadful day in our history. May you be remembered as the greatest soldiers in the world.”_

A roaring applause breaks out from the crowds surrounding the ceremony. Cheers can be heard for miles. James is proud of her. (Y/N) never liked giving speeches, not even in front of her family. She does not crave the attention the way other members of high society can. As the applause begins to die, the banner bearers approach her. Colonel Rhodes yells out a command, and the entirety of the army salutes her. (Y/N) takes a deep breath, slowly raises her arm to the side, and salutes them back.

Steven smiles from behind her.

Perfect placement.

James dismounts his horse and then helps the Queen down from hers. Footmen take the reins and steer the horses out of the way so that the ceremony may move on.

Colonel Rhodes is to receive his honors first. As highest ranking military officer, he receives distinguished honors for every sovereign he serves. Her father’s royal monogram is sewn onto a gold medal attached to a white ribbon with navy blue vertical stripes. (Y/N)’s honors bear her monogram, sewn onto a gold medal attached to a navy blue ribbon. She pins it to the Colonel’s chest and there is a loud applause when he turns to face the army again.

Now, James receives his honors. (Y/N) takes a deep breath.

“It is not often that a sovereign has the honor of bestowing these decorations.” She announces to the audience. “But in the eight years that he has served my family and I, I could not imagine another man more fit to bear them.”

She turns to James and he takes it as his cue to stand before her and kneel. He sinks to the ground slowly, never breaking eye contact with his Queen.

“Your sword.” She commands. James unsheathes it and holds it up for her to take. (Y/N) taps his shoulders with the flat edge of the weapon. “By my sovereignty, I hereby officially and publicly proclaim you, James of House Barnes, Royal Protector of the Queen, with all the rights and privileges appertaining to such a title, and I present you with these ribbons as your badge of office. Please rise.”

When the Queen is fastening his decorations to his chest, over his heart, he sees nothing but her. Feels nothing but intimacy. He doesn’t care about the titles and the ribbons and the ceremony of it all—those things are all for show and are all folly. He cares about _her_. Protecting her, and loving her in absolute secrecy. There is nothing he wants more in his life than to have _her_ in it. In whatever capacity he is blessed with. Even if that means he has to painstakingly keep a straight face while he watches her fall in love with the Midgardian King.

As long as she asks him to stay, he could never dream of leaving her.

After the ceremony is concluded, the kingdom goes back to their normal routines. (Y/N) is changing into a more comfortable dress for travelling and then she is covered with the thickest cloak she owns—nothing compared to what Steven is wearing when she meets him in the hallway. His cloak is visibly much better quality and more appropriate for Midgardian weather than hers. As they’re walking down the hallway, joined by James, the Prime Minister approaches them.

“Ah! Your Majesty, I’m glad to have caught you.” He holds out a giant stack of papers in his arms. “We have much to discuss. Lord Pierce is to arrive shortly with more.”

She blinks at him. “But you see, I have decided to go to Midgard.”

Stark is visibly taken aback. “Now?”

“Yes.” The Queen says, adjusting the cloak around her shoulders. “You know how fond I am of…” she looks back to Steven, looking for something to say to rationalize her decision, “…ice.”

She fights the urge to cringe at herself.

“Ice, ma’am?” Stark asks baffled, eyeing Steven suspiciously.

“Yes.” She nods curtly, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“I would strongly advise against that ma’am. I think you will find it will not reflect well on your reign if you have chosen to take a vacation one day after your coronation. There are many matters that require your full attention. And the royal guard has just been dismissed, they are well on their way to their stations—I could not guarantee your safety while you travel.”

“You needn’t worry about my safety, Prime Minister, I will have the King and James by my side, I could not be safer. And surely the boxes can come with me?”

“I have no doubt that his Majesty and Sir James will do all they can to protect you, but I am afraid it is not wise for you to take your work out of the country. People would assume the Midgardian King influenced your decisions. In his favor.”

“That is absurd.” (Y/N) protests.

“Perhaps, but the public tends not to be known for their rational thought in these situations. One person makes an accusation against your monarchy and suddenly it’s a scandal.”

“I would have to disagree with you, Prime Minister. I believe the people will be very understanding. I was their favorite, after all.”

“I think you will find that they will treat you very differently as a Queen than they did as a Princess.”

“Thank you, Prime Minister.” She says, effectively silencing him. “I shall see you when I return.”

“Alright.” Stark concedes. “As you wish, your Majesty. I shall tell Pierce you have decided to go to Midgard. We shall be patiently awaiting your return.”

(Y/N) smiles to him and begins walking forward through the corridor. Steven strides behind her with James at his side. He leans over. “Your Queen has quite the talent of getting what she wants.”

“Yes.” James answers. “No one cares to refuse her when her desires so often have such an innocence to them.”

“Have you ever refused her, James?” Steven asks quietly.

“Once.”

“And what happened?”

“Her father gave me this sword.” He says, tapping it on his hip.

Steven laughs. “You must have done him quite the favor by refusing her, then.”

“He certainly saw it that way. I don’t think she would have agreed, but she was so young at the time. She was never one for holding grudges. She forgave me the next day.”

“What did you do?” Steven inquires.

“Forgive me, your Majesty, for my frankness, but that is not your business.” James snaps to end the conversation. He’s already said too much.

Steven is slightly offended, but doesn’t press the matter. They arrive at the courtyard where their horses are ready for travel and their belongings are packed on carriages meant to follow them. (Y/N) looks so excited to be leaving her palace for a few days to escape the pain and sadness and death that lingers in the halls.

(Y/N) and the King ride side-by-side towards the Midgardian capital. James follows very close behind. They don’t have a regiment following them, leaving them all exposed to ambush. It makes James nervous for the entire trip, but it warms his heart to hear her laugh echoing through the forests and valleys. Even if the King is the one making her laugh like that.

As they cross the border, Steven’s words show true—Midgard’s climate is extremely harsh and they stop so James can shed a layer to give to her. Less than ten minutes later they stop again and Steven ties his large cloak around her shoulders, and taps her nose when he’s done, earning a giggle from her. He tells her that he’s already sent word that they’d be coming and a brand-new fur cloak is waiting for her upon their arrival.

Another extravagant gift for an equally extravagant woman. At least in Steven’s eyes. James feels the same, but he’s not allowed to say it.

The tip of her nose feels like an icicle that might break off by the time they arrive at Steven’s palace. She’s shivering so much she can barely move in a straight line. Steven helps her into the front door of the palace and when they enter, they are embraced with a pleasant warmth. It smells like woodsmoke. Cozy. Elegant.

Steven leans into her from behind, whispering in her ear as he removes her cloaks. “Welcome to Midgard, my darling.” He hands off the cloaks to one of the servants. “It has been a long journey. Would you like to rest and warm up?”

She scoffs at him. “Of course not! Would you let me explore your palace?”

He opens his mouth to oblige, but an ugly, all too familiar snicker echoes through the halls. It makes (Y/N)’s skin crawl and James’ blood pressure spike.

“King Steven, I was wondering when you might be returning to your lovely palace.” The Sokovian King boasts.

Steven turns to face King Brock, who has a cigar hanging out of his mouth and a glass of wine in each of his hands. King Brock looks around him and catches sight of (Y/N). He winks at her. “I see you’ve brought some lovely company with you.”

“I was not expecting you, your Majesty.” Steven says, eyeing one of his slimy ministers in the corner. He will have a word with Lord Sitwell for allowing such a disturbance. “I have to apologize but I’m afraid the Queen and her guardian have left me at full entertaining capacity. I’ve not prepared a room for you. You will have to return another time.”

The King of Sokovia gives him a wicked smile and raises his brow. “Well…I could always share a room with her Majesty—”

“That is out of the question!” James snaps, getting ready to draw his sword and slice him open right through the gut.

Brock holds up his free fingers in surrender and blows out a puff of smoke into Steven’s face. “It is so harsh outside, my horse has travelled far. No need to specially prepare a room for me. I’m sure you’ll find me passed out in the hallway by midnight.” He says smiling, taking a sip of wine.

Steven sighs in frustration, settling his face into a scowl. He swallows thickly, but decides to let it go. He turns to (Y/N) and his face softens. He holds out a hand for her. “I believe you wanted to explore?”

She nods and takes his hand.

James wants to spit in the Sokovian King’s face, but gives him nothing more than a threatening glare, and a scowl of disgust. Brock blows his cigar smoke into his face, too. James turns to trail after his Queen.

“I am sorry about the intrusion, your Majesty.” Steven says once they are far enough away from Brock to have their conversation private. “I did not know he would be making a most unexpected visit. I should have that Lord Sitwell dismissed immediately.” He jests, only half-serious.

“You can be so dramatic, Steven. I’m sure he meant no harm. I imagine you weren’t expecting me on such short notice either.”

“Maybe not. But unlike the Sokovian King…” he pulls her hand to his mouth to kiss the top of her hand. “… _you_ are welcome company.”

A heat makes its way to her cheeks. She looks away to hide her embarrassment. He is such a gentleman. It feels wrong to compare him to James when they are obviously so different—but to be able to receive affection so openly like this is something she’s never experienced, and it would be a lie to say she did not enjoy it.

She brings her attention to all of the paintings lining the walls, taking up every free inch of space from floor to ceiling. In her own palace, all of the paintings are of previous monarchs and members of the royal family. Here, they are of landscapes, of feasts, of peasants and their living conditions, of the night sky. Paintings of life. One in particular catches her eye—the crown jewels of Midgard, but the diamonds and sapphires are replaced with colorful roses. Flower crowns.

Steven observes her eyes full of sparkle. “Do you like them?” he asks her.

“They are beautiful!” she exclaims. “I must know the artists! I want my own halls to be lined with such lovely art.”

“Nothing I paint could ever rival your beauty but I shall try my best.”

She looks at him with her eyes wide in shock. “Steven, you mean to tell me you did all of these?”

“Every one.” he says, looking upwards to let his eyes travel over the frames highest up on the wall. “Most I did in my youth. Others when I became a man. After I took the throne, I had less and less time to paint, but that doesn’t mean I don’t try. I have tens of unfinished paintings in my room. I have had some trouble finding a muse lately.” He looks back down at her. “But I think I have found inspiration again.”

(Y/N) takes his hand in hers and he places his other hand over them, rubbing over the skin and using the friction to warm her cool fingertips. “May I see them, your Majesty? The unfinished paintings?”

He doesn’t answer her with words, but pulls her lightly to lead her along. They walk arm-in-arm to Steven’s suite. Inside, he keeps it cozy and slightly messy. It feels more like a home instead of a palace. There’s a fireplace casting a warm glow on the walls, and it fills the room with more of that woodsmoke smell she’s become fond of since she arrived. Steven’s art supplies take precedence over his work on his desk, nearly every inch covered in brushes, charcoal, sketches, and dried paints. His bed is unmade, but not dirty. The sheets are obviously still clean and crisp.

In a small surge of courage, (Y/N) toes off her short heels and jumps onto his bed in a most unladylike fashion. Steven looks up at her jumping on the bed and his heart swells because she feels comfortable enough around him already to show him this side of her. So naïve and young. Carefree, even though she has the weight of an entire kingdom on her shoulders.

She settles into the bed and looks up at the ceiling. She tries to determine if she can bear sleeping in a bed that isn’t just hers. If she can bear looking at a ceiling she shares with another.

Steven feels that courage too, and kneels next to her on the bed. He balances himself on his elbows, and leans down slowly to capture her lips in a kiss. She threads her fingers behind his neck, pulling him closer. It is a slow, passionate, warm kiss. Steven is careful not to let his hands wander, however much his desires are begging him to do so. He would never touch her in such a way before she promised herself to him on her own free will.

He is a king. Everything he could ever want is easily accessible to him. But one thing his status, his money, his body, or his looks cannot buy him, is true love. When he found out that their fathers promised them to one another, he swore to himself that he would never pressure or force her into loving him. Wouldn’t force her to satisfy his desires or give him an heir. Now, that agreement has been broken, and he feels like he has a chance to truly give her the chance to fall in love with him organically. It would bring him great honor if she gave her heart to him.

Neither of them are sure how long has passed before they break the kiss. They breathe heavy, their lips still ghosting over each other. She looks up at him, and she can see what an honest man he is. He could have held her father’s promise over her head and gained control over her country, and she would not have questioned his intentions. He gave her a chance to determine her own destiny. She’s unsure if that’s something she can ever truly thank him for.

He leans down to give her one last chaste kiss and then sits up. “I think I should let you get changed for dinner.”

“Okay.” She whispers, feeling a little rejected, but understanding that it’s already a scandal for them to be alone in his room before they are married.

“Shall I escort you to your room?”

“No need to trouble yourself. I think James is waiting outside and can manage. I shall see you in the dining room, then?”

He nods, and she stands up and leaves the room. James holds out his arm and they walk together.

“Do you like Midgard, James?” she asks to make small conversation with him.

“The visibility here is poor.”

She laughs at him. “I meant the hospitality. Don’t you find it most welcoming?”

“I’m afraid I am not versed in the matters of hospitality.”

She stops in her stride and turns to him. His harsh tone with her is not his normal behavior. She scoffs. “Are you quite alright, James?”

“Yes, your Majesty. The journey has taken much out of me, I am tired.”

She lets go of his arm. “Then perhaps you should find somewhere to rest. We are guests here, James. I will not have you offending the King with your unnecessary hostility.”

“Which King is that, your Majesty? The one who touches you with perverted hands or the one who invites you into his room, quite alone. It is my opinion—”

“If I wish to hear your opinion, I will ask for it, James.” She interrupts him. Then she sighs, rolling her shoulders back and standing a bit taller. “Thank you. You’re dismissed for the night. I suggest you improve your attitude by morning.”

She walks into her guest room and slams the door. James swallows thickly, already feeling guilt. It was not his place to let his jealousy be so apparent.

He will apologize in the morning for his behavior.

But for now, he should be grateful he’s been given some hours to rest, uninterrupted. He asks a Midgardian servant where he might find a bed to rest in, and heads there with one last look at his Queen’s door.

*****

(Y/N) sent her maidens away, insisting she can get dressed on her own. She needs the peace and quiet. She disrobes from her riding garb and sits at the vanity in her slip and corset, powdering her nose.

After a moment, she can hear the door squeak open and she looks in the mirror to see who would be so rude as to enter without knocking.

“I’m shocked, your Majesty, that your Royal Guard Dog is not at your door waiting to stab me in the gut. I’m sure he would jump at the opportunity.”

King Brock’s vile voice sends cold shivers down her back. He closes the door behind him, making a show to lock it slowly.

(Y/N) swallows. “You should not be in here while I am dressing. It is inappropriate.” She says, covering her breasts with her arms. Her underthings are very thin.

King Brock stumbles his way over to the vanity and cages her between the desktop and his chest. She can feel his breath fan over a sensitive spot on the back of her neck. His body odor reeks of alcohol. (Y/N) turns her head so that she doesn’t have to meet his eyes in the mirror.

“King Steven got a chance to see you alone. It is only fair you extend me the same… _hospitality_.”

Her heart drops. He must have been listening to her conversation with James. “The King was only showing me his paintings.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He says, rubbing a hand over the skin that is exposed on her chest. “King Steven is a very respectable man. But he is…” King Brock looks up to try and find the word, “… _inexperienced_ in the finer pleasures that can be found in the fairer sex.”

“I think this conversation is over.” (Y/N) says, firmly. But it’s no use. She sounds like a little girl who’s in way over her head. King Brock just laughs at her. He rubs his hands over her arms and pulls them away, exposing her thinly clothed breasts to him. She tries to cover her chest again, but he holds her hands firmly on the table.

“Just look at you.” He says, gesturing to her breasts with a nod. “So beautiful. So perky. So young. You don’t have to hide those carnal desires from me. I would appreciate you in way Steven could only dream of if we were married.”

(Y/N) is on the verge of tears and only blames herself for this predicament. She should have never sent James away. He would have killed King Brock before he stepped foot inside. Brock can feel the way her heart speeds up and plays it to his advantage.

“See? Your heart gives you away. You’re flustered by me. You want me to take what Steven and James are too cowardly to claim themselves.”

(Y/N)’s eyes widen when he says James’ name and Brock laughs.

“What? Surprised I can see it? You two are not as subtle about it as you think you are. It would be unfortunate if this information were to fall unto the wrong ears.”

“Please.” She begs, shaking her head fervently. “You can tell no one. He could be killed.”

“Don’t worry, your Majesty. Your secret is safe with me.” He says sincerely. She breathes steady, but he cuts in before she can relax. “But, secrets come at a price, and I’m afraid there is only one form of payment you can offer me.”

(Y/N) waits for him to continue, a tear falling from her cheek because she believes he intends to rape her, but evidently, the Sokovian King has run out of patience. He grabs her by her hair and hoists her from her seat at the vanity, sending the chair tumbling over. She wails, and he drags her to the wall, holding her there by her neck.

“Now. If you want your little secret to _stay_ a secret, you will do everything I am about to say without protest. Nod if you understand—good. First, you’re going to enjoy your little vacation here with the Midgardian King for a few days, get in his good graces for me, since we all know I’m not going to do that myself.” He squeezes her neck to make sure he still has her attention. “Second, when you return home, I’ll be there, and you’re going to announce your engagement to me, and announce the union of our countries and denounce yourself as my queen consort. You’re going to dismiss your guard from your side and exile him from the country. Then, you’ll come with me to my palace in Sokovia Proper where I’m going to fuck you like a whore and you’re going to give me a son. Not a daughter. A _son_. You’re going to be so dedicated to your nursery duties that I only ever see your face when it’s convenient to _me_. You had a chance to make this easy for yourself, been showered with jewels and affections, but you sold my necklace and your guard threatened to cut off my manhood. So now, you’re going to be nothing more than a nursemaid and a whore.”

He lets her go, harshly, and she sinks to the floor, shaking. King Brock puts back on his wicked smile and leans down to harshly kiss her. He moves down more to lick her chest. He grins at her.

“So sweet.” He says, standing back up and walking to the door. “See you at dinner.” He coos to her as he leaves.

(Y/N) spends the next half-hour working her way through a panic attack, alone. She’s shaking so much that she can barely walk, but she needs someone. Steven is closer. She wraps herself in a shawl to hide her inappropriate dress and runs to his room. She enters without knocking. He’s in the middle of changing. He steps out of his closet and runs to her when he sees her in such a state of disarray. She throws herself into his embrace and sobs into his neck.

“What is wrong my darling?” he asks her, rubbing her back and holding her close. She doesn’t answer him for a long time. “What happened?” he asks again once she calms down a bit.

She shakes her head. “I can’t tell you…” she sobs, going back to hiding her face in his neck.

“What can I do to make you feel better?” he asks instead, pulling her back and placing his warm palms on her cheeks. Her lip is quivering.

“Can you…can you station more guards at the door to my room?”

“Has something happened—”

“Please!” she begs. “Please just do it. For me?”

He nods. “Okay. I promise.”

She looks down at her feet in her own embarrassment and whispers a thank you to him before turning to leave again. Steven is dumbfounded and in a state of shock. He quickly finishes dressing and steps outside to find his own Prime Minister, Samuel Wilson. He’s reading a book in the library.

“Lord Wilson.” Steven greets.

Samuel stands. “Your Majesty.”

“I need you to station five guards outside of her Majesty’s room at all times. I want another four to join her own personal guardian while she’s here. They are not to let her go anywhere alone.”

Samuel senses the King’s distress. “Has something happened?”

“Yes.” Steven says, looking around the room. “I’m just not sure what it is. But if you do this for me, I would be eternally grateful.” Steven pats Samuel on the shoulder. “Join us for dinner. You have an eye for detail as I do. Maybe we can figure out what it is.”

Samuel nods and whisks away to fulfil the King’s command.

*****

Back in her room, (Y/N) finally manages to get dressed in her dinner gown. She chose one that covers as much of her skin as possible. When she steps outside of her door again, five armed guards are stationed there. It brings her comfort, but she’s afraid the damage has already been done.

Steven is there, James too. Steven found him in the servant’s quarters and woke him, telling him to return to the Queen’s side at once. He looks tired

“Dinner is served.” Steven says, and holds out an arm for her. She takes it, and as they walk, she tuns her head back to look at James.

James knows that look well. It is her silent way of saying that she needs to speak to him when they are alone. James and four other armed guards surround (Y/N) and Steven, no more than five feet between them. James still hasn’t been informed as to why a battalion now follows her around, but all he can see is King Steven in holding her hand as he walks her to the dining hall.

All he can _feel_ is a jealousy brewing in his heart.

Because he’s escorted her to dinner every single day for eight years.

With each passing moment, he loses her to King Steven more and more.

He wonders how long it will be until she looks to him for protection as well. He mourns the day when she tells him that his watchful eye is no longer necessary. Instead of dismissing him for the night, dismissing him for life.

At supper, there is a very uncomfortable atmosphere surrounding the table. They are all sat in a circle. (Y/N) sits between Steven and Brock, and Samuel sits on Steven’s right side. (Y/N) hasn’t looked up from her plate since she was seated. Her body language indicates she is obviously uncomfortable sitting next to Brock and Steven notices it very clearly.

“King Brock.” Steven says, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “I have decided that since you’ve travelled all this way, I should like to give you a horse from my personal stables.”

The Sokovian King, drunk as always, slams his hands on the table and spills his wine on his pants. “Finally!” he boats, making (Y/N) jump in her seat. “All good Kings need a fine horse. And I am nothing, if not a fine King.”

“Yes. I agree.” Steven says, cringing at himself for entertaining Brock’s ego. “Colonel Phillips will show you to the stables.”

“Sir.” The Colonel says, stepping forward. King Brock stands up and grabs a bottle of wine from a serving tray before following him out of the dining room.

(Y/N) visibly relaxes once he’s out of sight. She perks up and begins to enjoy her meal. She even spares Steven longing glances and holds a conversation with Samuel. The atmosphere is completely different and Steven, Samuel, and James can all see it very clearly. King Brock has done something to frighten her terribly. Steven excuses himself and stands, asking Samuel and James to join him.

“Continue your supper, my darling. I shall only be a moment.” He says when (Y/N) begins to stand up from the table too—proper etiquette when a guest of the monarch. She lowers herself back into her chair and continues to cut off a small piece of quail.

The three men gather in a far corner of the hall. Steven looks back at (Y/N) before speaking. “I think it is quite obvious that King Brock has done something to terrify her Majesty. Do either of you know anything about this?”

Samuel and James shake their heads.

“And why were you in the servant’s quarters this evening, James?”

“I had offended her Majesty and she dismissed me for the night.” He answers.

“Well I hope whatever you said to cross her was of the most importance because whatever happened to her, happened in your absence.” Steven scolds. “So please, whatever you do, make sure he does not go near her again.”

“You have no authority to give me orders, your Majesty.”

Steven steps forward to speak right into James’ face. “You do well to remember that when she was in distress, the first person she came to was _me_. _I_ had to seek _you_ out. She _did_ _not_ ask for you. It is a pity that your indifference towards me has put her in danger.”

James doesn’t speak another word, and returns to his position watching over her without protest.

“Samuel, under no circumstances is King Brock to sleep in this palace tonight. Drag him out by his boots if you must.” Steven mutters an extra sentence under his breath: “With any luck he’ll freeze solid before morning.”

“Wouldn’t that be quite the spectacle.” Samuel says with a grin.

Just then, a footman approaches with a letter on a plate to hand to the King. His hands are shaking. Steven takes it. “Who is this from?” he asks the footman.

“The Border Tribe of Northern Wakanda intercepted this letter when a scout flying Sokovian colors illegally entered their lands. Says he came from our jurisdiction. I think you will find its contents disturbing.”

Steven keeps a steady face when he opens the letter, but his heart sinks when he reads the first line:

_You promised us coffers overflowing with gold if we slaughtered the Royal Family! We delivered on our part of the bargain, you have yet to uphold yours, and you have the nerve to ask more of us? The Redskulls have better things to do than watch the young Queen fall in love some lobcock of a king. You may get off when people test your patience, but I am not known for mine. Double our pay and have it delivered to the dead drop, or this time, I will keep her and give her to my men like some lowly prostitute and you’ll have to find some other virgin royal to fulfill your sick fantasies with._

_My men are ready. We attack at the full moon end._

_-J.S._

“You said this came from a _Sokovian_ scout?” Steven asks.

“Yes, your Majesty.” The footman says.

“Do we know who J.S. is?”

“No, sir, though there are rumors that it might be the Sokovian King himself.”

“Don’t rest your faith in rumors, boy.” Steven scolds, folding and handing the letter back to the footman. He scurries away. Steven leans back towards Samuel and lowers his voice even further. “They speak of an attack—”

“At the full moon end.” Samuel completes his sentence. “That is tonight. Should I prepare our men?”

Steven sighs. “Yes. I want every available man at the borders. Increase the frequency of patrols inside and outside the palace. Find King Brock and confine him somewhere we can keep an eye on him. If he was to be either the orchestrator or the receptor of this message, it is treason. Send an unarmed scout to Wakanda to ask his Majesty if he might have information about J.S.” Steven pulls Samuel close and speaks directly in his ear. “Do not speak a word of this to the Queen.”

“What of her protector?” Samuel asks, and both men look across the room to him. Steven sighs.

“Tell him only if you must. After supper I will find somewhere safe for her to stay, and then find you again to help plan our defenses.”

The men part and Steven makes his way back to the table, plastering a soft grin on his face. “Forgive me, darling.”

“I am a guest, Steven. An apology is unneeded.” She says, pretending not to notice the way his face is soft but his body is still. His eyes are constantly wandering the room as if he expects someone to ambush him. James notices his behavior too, and it puts him on edge as well. He listens harder at the door, keeps his hand on his sword, ready to draw it. If an ant were to approach the Queen, he would surely lunge at it.

“My darling,” Steve begins after a pregnant moment of silence, “I wonder if we might move dessert and coffee to my rooms. I could teach you how to paint. Perhaps it can become a hobby we can share?”

(Y/N) perks up in her seat. “That would be lovely, Steven.”

“Excellent.” He smiles at her. “You go ahead, I shall meet you there in a moment.”

She nods and stands. Takes James’ arm and pulls him along to Steven’s rooms. The four extra guards follow closely behind, but she pays them no attention, happily skipping along. She’s very excited that Steven wishes to share one of his great passions with her. She leaves James at the door and enters the warmth of his room. She sits by the fireplace for a while, waiting for him. He’s taking quite a long time and (Y/N) hasn’t always had the best attention span, so she moves to look through all of the paintings scattered about his desk. A letter catches her eyes and she can’t stop herself from reading the first line.

Her heart breaks all over again.

She picks up the letter and painfully reads the rest. It feels like a dagger has entered her heart. It explains his behavior after he returned from his conversation at dinner. Tears well in her eyes and she covers her mouth with her hand as she sobs. The door opens and Steven enters the room, his eyes immediately going to the letter that never should have been in his room in the first place. He makes a note to dismiss that footman. Before he even gets a chance to defend himself, she shoves the letter into his chest. He catches her hand and holds it there.

“You let me enjoy my dinner and offered extracurricular activities to me as if I was not important enough for this information?”

“I…I did not want to distress you, my darling.”

“If there is information on the murder of my family you are in no position to withhold it from me!” She yells at him, loud enough to be heard through the door. He reaches up to wipe a tear from her cheek but she leans away from his touch.

 “Please, forgive me. I only thought it best to spare you heartache without all of the facts.” He says with a sincere gentleness to try and calm her down.

“You had no right to make such decisions for me!” she yells to him. “You told me you thought of us as equals!”

“I still do!” he pleads back to her. “You have to understand—you were under distress already, I only wanted to keep you safe. You must believe me.”

Her lip quivers and she harshly pulls out of his grasp. Lifting up the bottom of her dress, she rushes out of the room, asking James to follow her. “I wish to go home. Immediately.”

James is in no position to ask questions, so he takes a step to follow her as commanded. King Steven rushes past him after her as she turns a corner.

“She cannot leave this palace!” he says to James with such a conviction that James can’t find it in his heart to defy the King’s judgement. They both run after her, expecting that she’s run out the front door of the palace. Instead, she uses a servant’s exit through the kitchens and runs out of the back, throwing them off her trail.

The bitter chill of an approaching blizzard burns in her lungs and whips her skin, feeling like cuts to the bone. In her haste to leave, she didn’t grab any furs to keep her warm or even a pair of gloves. She runs in a straight line for a long time, the thick snowfall covering her tracks almost as soon as they’re made. She slows down the longer she’s outside and finally, stops to catch her breath. She looks around and can see nothing but a blanket of white. There are no buildings, no trees, no rocks, no animals. Nothing, but icy, snowy ground.

Stopping was the worst thing she could have done. She realizes just how cold her feet are, buried beneath the snow. Her lungs feel dry and her breaths are labored. Her fingertips have lost sensation and have already gone blue. Her dress is wet and only adds to the chill. She’s shivering so severely that she can no longer stand, and falls with her cheek against the snow. She is void of the strength to stand back up. Her ears have never hurt so much in her life. She closes her eyes and cries, the tears freezing on her cheeks.

She tries to yell out for help, but her voice comes out a broken and pathetic squeak.

There’s a small layer of snow covering her before she lets the cold lull her into a heavy slumber.

*****

Her eyes flutter open, slowly. She can’t say she’s entirely surprised when she wakes up in Steven’s room and sees him sitting at a small table that’s been moved right next to his bed. His mouth is in a hard line, his hair unruly, his brow furrowed.

He looks like a guilty man. She doesn’t want to alert him to her consciousness just yet, so she settles and closes her eyes again. Every few seconds, Steven will place his hand in hers. A test to make sure the warmth is still returning to her body. A bed warmer with red-hot coals is at the foot of the bed to keep her feet warm. He checks it every few moments too, to make sure it still burns.

Her heart sinks when she peeks again and cannot find James in the room. She would have assumed he’d have fought his way inside by now to watch over her—always so worried.

She decides it’s time to show Steven she’s awake, so she tries to sit against the headboard. She squeaks when her chest burns from the movement. Steven immediately diverts his attention to her, helping her sit up. He lets out a shaky sigh and kisses her forehead.

“I was so worried about you.” He croaks. “Please, never find the courage in your heart to scare me like that again.”

He kisses her lips and then traces the lines of her mouth with his thumb. He smiles at her softly. “I thought I would never see your lips return to their natural hue.”

“I would like to speak to James. Alone, please.” She says to him.

Steven’s smile quickly fades when she doesn’t care for his affections, but he quietly obliges and makes sure she’s tucked in before kissing her forehead again and stepping out of the room. After a moment, James steps inside and immediately makes his way over to the bed. Without a word, (Y/N) removes herself from under the blankets and throws herself into his arms. She sobs into his neck and he rubs soothing circles on her back as he’s done for many years any time she’s distressed. He speaks no words, only holds her.

“I don’t know who to trust anymore.” She finally cries into his neck. Her heart aches at the thought of what other truths Steven might withhold from her.

James shushes her. “You will always be able to trust me.”

She pulls away from him then. “I trusted you to keep my family safe.”

He moves away from her, too, and he snaps. “If you think it is unwise to trust me, why did you send away the King and ask me here, then? Would you have allowed me to stay your protector if you did not trust me? I have spent eight years acting as your most loyal and obedient servant, and if I must spend the rest of my days apologizing for my failure to you then so be it—but there will come a time when you must grow up and accept that I am only a man! I cannot protect you from everything, however much I want to!” he places his hands on her shoulders and shakes her. “You cannot run away from everything! Do you have any regard for what it felt like? To find you buried under a blanket of snow? I stepped on you! Icicles were clinging to your lashes and you skin was overcast in a dull shade of blue instead of vibrant with the color I have grown to love! Do you not understand that without you I am nothing? Do you—”

(Y/N) lifts her hands to his cheeks and crashes her lips to his. She kisses him fiercely. Full of passion. He pulls her close and kisses her back with just as much vigor.

It is wrong. Dishonorable. He should have stopped the kiss before it started. Should have shown more restraint. But…he couldn’t. Not when this is all he’s ever wanted—for her to prove her affection for him matches his for her. Her lips are chapped from the cold, but James finds a comfort in how natural it makes them feel. There is no doubt in their kiss—their lips fit together perfectly.

She pulls him down to the bed with her, and he softly moves his hands down the underside of her thighs to place them over his hips. She moans softly into his mouth at the intimate contact. He can feel her underthings with the tips of his fingers. He’s never has such a disregard for the Queen’s honor, but simply cannot help himself. She’s opened up to him in ways he’s only ever been able to dream of.

As he kisses her, he realizes that no matter how close he gets to her—no matter how far he lets this go, she will never be his. If he does this—takes her virginity on another man’s bed and then hands her off to be married to him—it is a most damning sin. James lets his hands travel to a more appropriate place: her cheeks. He savors one last, hard kiss before pulling away from her. He whines at the loss—but it is the right decision.

He leans down to whisper into her ear, soft and true. “Always remember, you can trust me, (Y/N).”

“James wait!” she shrieks as he tries to quickly pull away. “I must tell you something. It’s important.”

He relaxes over her and lets her play with the locks of his hair, rubbing his scalp. He practically purrs at the action and rests his forehead into her chest. She sighs heavily.

“I am going to marry the King of Sokovia.” She whispers, her voice breaking at the end of her sentence. James tenses and sits up to look at her.

“What?” he says, scrunching his face in confusion.

“I have to.” She says, crying.

“Why?” James asks, kissing away a tear from one cheek and swiping another away with his thumb. “Why would you marry that wicked man?”

“He knows about us, James.” She sobs. “After I sent you away, he came to my room while I was dressing for supper. He pulled me by my hair and threatened to tell everyone about it unless I dismissed you from my service, returned to Sokovia, and gave him a son.”

(Y/N) has never seen such a fire in James’ steel blue eyes before. They are red with rage.

“I’m going to kill him.”

“James—”

“No, (Y/N)! He hurt you! I am going to slit his throat and watch as he chokes on his own blood. I will bring you his head!”

“James!” she shrieks after him, but he’s already out the door. She cries into her hands for a while. Her feet hurt, sore and raw from the cold, but she stands anyways and wraps a shawl around her shoulders. She slowly pads out of the room. She sees Steven just outside in the hallway, staring up at a picture of his mother and father. Moonlight caresses his face and he is so lost in thought that he does not sense her approach. (Y/N) loops her arm with his and leans her cheek on his shoulder. His body heat brings warmth to her cheek.

He sighs. “Would you believe my word to be true if I told you that you hold my heart in your hand?” he asks her.

“Yes.” She whispers. “Yes, Steven. Would you believe me if I told you the same?”

He scoffs. “No.” he says absolutely. (Y/N) looks up at him with a sadness in her eyes. “I saw you. With your guard.” He says, with a sad grin. Her heart sinks, but she doesn’t say anything. He continues: “I was a fool for not noticing it sooner. I wanted to be mad at you. For kissing another man, in my bed, no less. For letting his hands wander on delicate flesh I’ve resisted from touching because I was afraid to dishonor you.”

“Steven,” she defends herself. “I promise nothing more happened. Please forgive me! It was…”

“A mistake?” he interrupts. “A mistake that will force me to watch you swell with his child?”

“Steven!” she squeaks. “I promise you, I swear, I did not lay with him.”

“Do not lie! I saw his hands under your gown.”

She grabs his hands and holds them to her heart. “No. He pulled away before anything more happened.”

His face is hard for a moment, but his cold demeanor breaks. He lifts a hand to her cheek. “I would give anything for you to love me so pure as you do him.”

“I think I could. One day.” She says to him truthfully. It’s not fair to him to claim otherwise. She’s known James for almost half her life, and she’s only known Steven for three days.

They touch foreheads, and the moment just feels, intimate. Steven is so forgiving, so kind. He is willing to give her the world and asks for so little in return. (Y/N) knows now that her father made a true decision when promising her to the gentle king of Midgard.

“Steven I must tell you something.” She says to him. He looks at her to continue. “James has gone off to kill the King of Sokovia.”

Steven has the same look of confusion James gave her just a few moments before. “Whatever for?”

“I told him what the King did to me earlier in the day. Oh Steven, please, you must stop him. I fear what could happen if he fails.”

“What did he do to you to warrant such a reaction from James?” Steven asks, tightening his embrace around her.

(Y/N) sighs and looks down at her feet. “He knew about James and I and…he hurt me…and threatened to tell the world unless I married him.”

“He hurt you?” Steven asks for clarification.

“He pulled me by my hair. Please don’t tell me you’re going to run off to kill him too.”

“(Y/N).” Steven says, stroking her cheek. “King Brock may have been an orchestrator of the attack that killed your family.”

(Y/N) looks up at him. “What?” she asks.

“That letter you found on my desk was confiscated from a _Sokovian_ scout. It would make no sense for a scout to travel this far if it were not a letter meant to reach the King. He is the only Sokovian currently in the country to my knowledge.”

“The letter also spoke of an attack…”

“There is no need to worry, my darling. My army is at the border. They will let no one cross.”

She sighs. “Okay. But please, you must still find James.”

Steven nods and then takes her face in his hands to kiss her. He breaks the kiss and pulls her into his chest in a tight embrace. He opens his eyes and a light from the window catches his attention. It’s a small, glowing ball, resting amongst the stars. It begins getting bigger. Closer

Steven realizes what is is—his heart sinks to the floor and he grabs (Y/N) by the waist, pulling her away from the window. They tumble to the floor and he covers her as much as he can with his body when the flaming projectile crashes through the upper part of the window, shattering the glass and crumbling the brick exterior of the palace. Steven stands up and quickly hoists (Y/N) up to her feet and runs with her to get away before the payload explodes. Even though they are a significant distance from the orb, the explosion is still violent enough to send splinters flying in their direction. One travels far enough to slice the Queen’s calf, painting the bottom of her white nightgown red.

The sight of blood still makes (Y/N) sick and she nearly falls over right there in the hall.

“Please.” Steven begs. “You must stay awake.”

“It hurts, Steven!” (Y/N) cries.

“I know.” He answers. He uses his sword to cut a piece of fabric from a table runner to tie around the injury—creating a tourniquet. He helps her back to his room and sits her on the bed while he runs back and forth, gathering some blankets and some fruits that were left for him earlier in the night. He stops in front of (Y/N) and kneels down, wrapping her fur coat around her shoulders. “(Y/N), listen to me.” He points to his desk. “Under my desk there is a door in the floor.” he takes a key from around his neck and places it in her hands along with the small sack of supplies. “Go there. Follow the tunnel. You will come to a tall, narrow spiral staircase that will lead you to a secret room atop one of the towers. This is the key to the door. Wait for me there. I will send James to you if I find him. Do not open the door for anyone but he or I. Do you understand?”

Tears already well in her eyes. “No! Steven please! Come with me.” Another projectile crashes through the walls just outside the door to Steven’s bedroom and she shrieks in fear.

“I cannot. I must aid in the defense.”

“Please Steven! The last time I was told to hide away in a room I came out and my entire family was dead!” She grabs his cheeks and presses her forehead to his. “I cannot lose you too. I cannot bear it!”

“Please (Y/N), we don’t have much time. I promise that we will be together again.”

(Y/N) is hysterical now, barely hearing his words over her panic.

“(Y/N)!” Steven shouts at her. It was harsh, but he needed her attention. “They are after you and I will not rest until you are safe! I know you are scared. I will not stop until I bring you their leader’s head.”

“No Steven. Please no heads. Try to find James. Please come back to me. Do not break your promise.”

Steven kisses her quickly. “I won’t.” He helps her stand and pushes his desk out of the way to reveal the trapdoor underneath. He helps her down the short ladder and kisses the top of her head before he closes it and pushes the desk back in place, buffing out any marks in the floor before drawing his sword and exiting the room.

(Y/N) understands now why Steven packed her so many blankets—the dark tunnels do nothing to combat the natural temperature of the lands surrounding it. She comes to the staircase Steven mentioned and they are a steep and grueling climb for her legs. She reaches the door at the top and opens it, locking the door behind her. She is pleased to see a candle and matches have been stored there to offer her at least a bit of light and warmth.

It’s very quiet in her little room atop the tower. The only thing she can hear is the occasional payload striking the castle. Every time she hears it, she prays to anyone who will listen to spare the life of Steven and James.

If she loses them, she loses everything.

Steven knows this, which is why his first objective is finding him. He thinks that if James has not found King Brock, he has already made way outside, but Steven turns a corner and finds a sword at his throat. James pushes him against the wall and holds him still by the collar of his shirt—in the haste Steven left his room without donning his steel armor.

“Where is the Queen?” James shouts, digging his sword into Steven’s neck—a hair away from drawing blood.

“She is safe! I sent her to my saferoom! You can get to it by the door under the desk in my rooms. I told her you would come for her when you were able. She is the only one with a key to open the door!”

James hesitates but releases the King. “Is she hurt?”

“Yes. I tended to it with what I had but she will need medicines to fight infection soon.” He breathes. “Did you find King Brock?”

James realizes (Y/N) told him what happened, and takes a step back. “No.” he answers. “Come. A survivor from the border said the armies are already marching on the castle. They will be here soon. Your remaining men are already mustered near the main gate.”

Steven follows just a few steps behind and even the harsh chill of Midgard does not affect him—the adrenaline pumping too fast through his veins. There is a light fog covering the ground and the army approaching from the horizon look nothing more than ghosts.

It is when they get closer that it is revealed that all of their helmets are painted bright red and they fly the Sokovian flag.

 _Redskulls_.

James readies his stance and looks to the King. He looks a bit ridiculous without his armor about to fight a battle—but his confidence does not falter. “I hope the legends they tell of you are true.” He whispers, just loud enough for the King to hear.

When the fighting begins, Steven and James stay nearly back to back, protecting each other in perfect harmony. Even without armor on, the King fights as if he is not in imminent danger of being mortally wounded or killed with one missed block of a sword. Steven does manage to don a shield from one of the fallen Redskulls to give himself some protection—fighting with as much prowess one-handed as he did two-handed.

Samuel, once a military man, is even on the battlefield himself. Men in his position often don’t fight in wars, but it is a cause and a Kingdom he believes in enough to die for. Samuel is one of Steven’s dearest friends and it pains him to think about losing him. Steven directs his energy to protecting James for (Y/N) and protecting Samuel for himself.

After a long battle, most of the Redskulls lay dead and the remaining Midgardians with James head further out into the snow to dismantle those manning the catapults. The walk allows Steven’s body to rest and the cold and exhaustion begin to creep into his lungs and muscles. He pushes through it and with James, takes out the final men in the surrounding area. James hands the King his own cloak to combat some of the chill and Steven thanks him. They walk back to the castle side-by-side, eager to tell the Queen of their victory—to hold her in their arms again.

Well, that is what Steven will be doing. James only wishes to confirm she is truly safe. The men make their way into Steven’s rooms, but stop dead in their tracks when a man is lounging in one of the chairs by the fireplace.

“Ah, the King of Midgard—and her Majesty’s Royal Protector. So glad you could finally join me.” The man says, lighting a cigar and taking a large drag, blowing out the smoke in a ring.

Steven and James both draw their swords. “Who are you?” they speak in unison.

“Is it not obvious?” the man asks, far too comfortable for either of their likings. He holds out his hands and shrugs. “I am the reason you stand before me, drenched in sweat and the blood of your enemies.”

“You’re _J.S_.” Steven says with certainty.

“Johann Schmidt.”

James instantly recognizes the name. “You’re the commander of the Sokovian army.”

“I was, previously. But our King decided my talents would be put to better use elsewhere. Ordered me to kill that little princess’ entire family. When that little harlot became Queen—”

“You will not speak of her in such a manner.” Steven says, pointing his sword at the man and taking a few steps closer.

“I suspect the Royal Protector had something to do with her survival. And after that little fiasco the day of the funeral where you threatened to turn the King into a eunuch—he came to me with only two desires. The virgin Queen as a wife, and you,” Johann points to James, “…your head served to her on a platter a la her  _poor_   _Papa_.” His mocking voice is exaggerated by the cigar smoke in his lungs.

Steven’s nose flares at the tone Schmidt carries when speaking of his lover.

“Where is she?” he demands, and then looks around the room. “Somewhere close, I presume? Since both of you came straight here after you slaughtered my men. You would make my job so much easier and less bloody if you just bring her to me. King Brock wishes to _mount his mare_ before dawn.”

“I will die before I let you or your vile King lay filthy hands on her.” James says.

Schmidt laughs softly to himself. “That can be arranged.”

Time seems to stand still for a moment, then James feels an excruciating pain at the joint of his arm. He looks down, to see his arm twitching on the floor, the expensive rug soaking through with a pool of his blood. James falls over onto his back—the missing weight throwing off his balance. Steven looks, and when James falls, King Brock stands behind him, licking his teeth and admiring the blood on his sword.

“I’ve been waiting for this.” King Brock laughs, stepping on James’ torso and pointing his sword at his neck.

Steven quickly turns to stab his sword through Schmidt’s chest before he gets the chance to stand and then runs across the room to fight King Brock. Steven is heavily exhausted now, but uses every last bout of strength left in his body to lock swords with the Sinful King. They battle with their swords at each other’s necks. Brock manages to slice Steven’s leg behind his knee and Steven slips on a pool of James’ blood on the floor and falls forwards onto it.

It will be the biggest failure of his life, because it gives Brock just enough time to send his sword through James’ chest, twisting it for good measure.

“No!” Steven yells into the air, his voice breaking from the piercing scream.

Weaponless, King Brock accepts his death with dignity—if that’s even the proper word for it—and stands still with an evil smile on his face, his arms outstretched like a cross. King Steven stands up, pulls the sword from James’ chest and sends it back through Brock’s gut. He backs him into a wall and twists the sword the same way as before—with just as much malice and hatred. Blood pools in Brocks mouth and the last thing he does before his eyes roll back into his skull is spit the blood in Steven’s face.

Steven looks down and James and runs over to his fireplace where a branding iron sits, white hot from the flame. Steven brings it to James to cauterize the stump, but James stops him.

“No.” He whispers. He uses his remaining arm and strength to grab Steven by the front of his shirt. He chokes on his own blood in his throat. “My…sword. Take it to her. Kneel. Ask her…” he coughs out blood and his eyes go crossed before returning to normal. “Ask her for forgiveness. For me.”

“No James. You have nothing to ask forgiveness for.”

“I haven’t much time!” James chokes out. “Please. You are a merciful King. Fulfill a man’s dying wish. I made her a promise. I will brake it. If she forgives me…my—” he coughs again. “my soul can be at rest.”

James catches glimpse of a painting Steven was working on of (Y/N) while she was unconscious earlier in the night. Her face is the last thing he sees before the life leaves his eyes. The steel blue of his eyes goes dull. The color leaves his skin.

Steven cries for the first time since his father’s passing.

Steven fulfils James’ wish by taking his sword up the stairs of the saferoom with him. When he reaches the peak of the tower, he stands silently outside the door.

He’s never had to ask someone for forgiveness on behalf of another before. He did not know James very well—but he knows that (Y/N) cares for him deeply. This loss might break her forever. Steven holds his breath as he knocks on the door.

“My darling…it’s me.”

His voice sounds much more broken that he wanted it to. (Y/N) opens the door almost immediately and lunges into Steven’s arms without giving herself a chance to take in his state of disarray.

“Steven…you’re…you’re alive! My darling, you’re alive! I’ve waited here so long!” She sobs into his neck.

When Steven says nothing, nor returns her embrace, her heart sinks. She pulls away to look at him. Aside from the smeared blood on his face and clothing, he doesn’t seem to be severely injured.

It is during her inspection that she realizes that he is holding a sword that is unique in its existence.

He doesn’t even get a chance to kneel and begin his speech before she pushes him aside and runs down the stairwell screaming James’ name. Steven chases after her to warn her of the scene he’s left in this room—calling out her name to convince her to slow down. His leg injury makes the descent excruciating and lethargic.

Steven knows she’s found James when he hears her weeps echoing throughout the castle. She sits in the pool of blood and holds James cold body in her arms, rocking back and forth. She kisses the top of his head and begs him to come back, begs him to fight as if he could hear her.

“No. James…” she sobs, her words barely audible. “You promised. You promised! Please come back to me. I love you. I love you. You never got to hear me say it, but I love you. Please wake up so I can tell you.”

(Y/N) runs her fingers through James’ long hair, smoothing out the knots. She takes a piece of her nightgown and uses her own tears to wipe the dried blood away from his mouth. Closes his eyes. Kisses his eyelids. She believes that if she convinces him that she’s in enough distress, he will come back to her and his limp arm will wrap around her—rubbing circles on her back in a way only he can.

She chants into his ear and whispers “Please. Please. Please,” for nearly an hour. Samuel and some of the remaining castle servants stand by and wait for the King’s signal to begin preparing the body of the slain protector for burial and getting rid of the body of the Sinful King.

Steven sits next to (Y/N) on the floor and very gently and with great caution, touches her shoulder. She cowers away from him, turning her body to keep James concealed from his eyes. Steven caresses her bare shoulder again and then rubs across her back to caress the other shoulder. (Y/N)’s breathing hiccups as she begins to cry harder. She knows they’re going to try and take James away from her.

“(Y/N)…” Steven whispers.

“No.” she says back. Steven sighs. “No!” she says, much louder this time. “No. No, no, no, no, no!”

Steven kisses her temple. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, and then begins to remove her hold from James. She fights back at first—and with Steven’s exhaustion and his own blood loss, she is much stronger than him for a time. Eventually though, when he doesn’t let up, there is a moment where her entire body seems to just… _shut_   _off_. Her face becomes stoic and hard, her body is limp and she just stares in whatever direction her head falls. There’s no emotion, no life, no breath in her breasts. Steven pulls her in one direction while the servants pull James in another atop a sheet to move him easier. Steven limps with (Y/N) on his arm to his bathroom where he fills the tub halfway with warm water. He strips (Y/N) of her clothes and helps her into the tub, keeping a watchful eye on her as he cleans and sews his own wound. There is a canister of liquor near the bath and he pours some of it onto his cut, biting his tongue to fight the sting. He then uses a small bucket and rag to wash himself of the blood, sweat, dirt and tears from his body. Once he is clean, he quickly dresses in trousers alone—an outfit unfit for a king, but well made for a man in mourning.

(Y/N) has sat emotionless and unmoving in the tub since Steven put her there. He first takes a cup and wets her body and hair a few times over to get the surface of her clean. He lets the water drain and then refills the tub only halfway again. With great care, he rubs (Y/N)’s skin free from any blood that lingers there. He also gently cleanses her face from dried tears. He lets the tub drain once more and covers her in a robe when he helps her out. He regrets not going to find her some underthings and clothing before he bathed her—asking her to wait while he goes back into his closet to find something that might pass for appropriate dressings for a woman. He digs and digs until he finds loose garments that he believes will fit her comfortably.

He exits his closet and steps back into the bathroom. (Y/N) is holding James’ sword to her chest. Hugging it like an extension of his person.

“Did he give this to you?” she asks softly, staring at herself in a vanity mirror. Steven walks behind her and sets the clothes on the countertop.

“No. His last wish was for me to ask you for forgiveness on his behalf.”

“He has done nothing that requires forgiveness.”

Steven sighs, placing his hand on her neck and rubbing the base. “I told him the same. But he said he would break a promise his soul cannot be at peace unless you utter the words.”

“He promised he would never leave me.” Her lip begins to quiver, and Steven kneels.

“The King of Asgard once told me that the most honorable warriors take their place in the afterlife in Valhalla. There is drink and food and good company. The King of Northern Wakanda told me that his people believe that death is not the end. His father believed the other world was peaceful—dreamlike. There is no doubt in my being that James has been accepted into the afterlife as noble in death as he was in life. I, King Steven of Midgard, ask for your blessing on his behalf to let his soul be at rest.”

“Okay.” She whispers, clutching the sword even harder to her chest and sobbing. “Do you think I will see him again, Steven? In the afterlife?”

He smiles softly and reaches up to rub his thumb across her cheek as he does often. “He will be waiting for you. I am sure of it. The kind of love you had for each other transcends life and death.”

(Y/N) looks at Steven for the first time since he found her in the tower. “Will you be with me when they bury him? He deserves more than a rushed ceremony. I want to honor him the way a hero deserves.”

“Yes, my darling. I will always be with you. As will he.”

*****

King Steven’s palace is unlivable by morning. Half is collapsed and the other half has already been covered in snow. His servants and his advisors worked double time overnight packing his paintings and his belongings. (Y/N) gave Steven permission to move into her palace, a welcome guest, while he rebuilds. She has been almost completely mute since she held James’ lifeless body, save for a handful of yes and no answers. Her eyes are haunting, not even the smallest spark in them. Steven has not seen such emptiness before, not even from his father after his mother passed.

(Y/N) lost her entire family, and the man she loves, all in the span of a few days. Steven refuses to pretend he understands the pain of those losses. He holds her close inside of the carriage on the way back to her palace—riding horseback through the bitter cold is too much for their damaged souls right now.

Occasionally, Steven will whisper sweet words to her, to remind her that she’s not alone and that he cares for her. That he’s  _sorry_.

She falls asleep on his shoulder, her eyes swollen and heavy from the sorrow. He covers her face with a blanket as they pass the border. News of the attack has already spread and people gather to see if their Queen has survived or if she’s injured.

The carriage ride is much slower than the trip by horseback, and it is well into the next night before they arrive back in her country and ride into the courtyard of the palace. Lord Stark is waiting to greet them. The news of the impending attack in Midgard was sent as soon as they found out, and Stark pulled troops from the Sokovian border to defend the palace—a gesture he hopes will allow the young Queen to sleep soundly.

However, when the doors of the carriage open and Steven exits to assist the Queen out, Stark gets a glimpse of a young monarch, only eighteen, but with the haunted features of a widow.

Stark realizes that James is not with them, and a coffin follows them a few carts behind, and he connects the dots.

The events of the last week have completely rid her of life in her eyes. King Steven looks as if he’s aged a decade as well. There is little time for formalities, and the people of the country have mustered near the gates of the palace grounds to get a glimpse of their Queen. Steven lifts the sides of his cloak to shield wandering eyes from (Y/N)’s tears. He knows better than anyone that an emotional monarch is considered an incompetent one. Events like this shouldn’t be misconstrued against her, but they always are. He cried at his own mother’s funeral and people thought it meant he was incapable of running a country. An unfortunate reality. An _unfair_ reality.

As soon as they step through the doors, her ministers which have gathered in the hallway begin to bombard her with inquires about the events that unfolded in Midgard. She answers them all, but Steven can hear the lump in her throat. She’s getting overwhelmed. Steven knows exactly what the men surrounding her are up to; they’re searching for a weakness to exploit—any evidence at all that would justify putting absolute control in their hands. Murmurs begin to surface claiming she should take a leave of absence to recover. Steven loses his patience. 

“Enough!” he shouts at the governing body. “That is _enough_ , gentleman. You will not speak another word until your Queen requests it!”

The men look absolutely crossed that Steven is trying to exert authority here, but the Queen says nothing to challenge him and so they assume she agrees. Silence ensues. It may not be Midgard, but Steven is a man. They’ll always respect his authority over a woman’s. So it is. Steven knows this, and uses it to his advantage to help her in any way he can. He ushers her away from parliament and towards her suite—which, in her absence, was moved into the sovereign’s wing. It’s lined with large windows, facing the east, so she can watch the sun rise.

As if that would bring her the same comfort now as it did before.

Steven sits her at her vanity and removes her cloak for her. He tells her he is going to give her some privacy so that she can rest, but she begs him with broken sobs to stay with her through the night. It is improper for an unmarried woman to share a bed with a man. It is even more improper for a man to be alone in a room with her behind closed doors. She doesn’t care much for her virtue or a perfect image of purity while she grieves. All she wants is comfort only James knew how to give her. But Steven tries his hardest to provide it to her.

It’s just not the same.

Morning arrives, and (Y/N) doesn’t make an effort to get up for breakfast. Steven tells the servants to bring it to her in bed, but she still doesn’t touch the tray. Not even a sip of coffee. She only gets up when her maidens come in to dress her for James’ funeral. They put her in the same gown she wore to her family’s funeral, with the same hat and veil to cover her face. She travels with Steven on horseback to James’ birthplace. The carriage carrying his coffin follows closely behind. She wanted to give him his last rites and bury him next to his family as a hero.

Eight years was not enough with him. Forever wouldn’t have been enough. He died because they were star-crossed lovers. He died because of _her_. She only blames herself.

She allows herself to cry in front of her subjects. Uninhibited and raw.

When they arrive back at her palace after the funeral, she goes straight for his room. She forbade anyone from entering, even to clean it. It is the only place that was ever his, and she wants to preserve it.

He doesn’t have many things. A few sets of armor, some comfortable clothes and undergarments, all with holes, a light cloak. Three pairs of boots. His service uniform. There is a bar of soap on the vanity, next to a comb with broken teeth. A few empty bottles of wine are scattered around the bed, where dirty sheets sit messily spewed across the mattress. (Y/N) begins to cry.

She can’t remember the last time she asked James if he needed anything, and might have not ever asked at all. She is a princess that could have requested anything in the world be sent to him, but she never did. A new comb would have been like breadcrumbs to her royal allowance. Requesting he have clean sheets every day for his bed as she did would have taken a laundry maid no more than a few extra minutes. She gets several new dresses a year, the least she could have done is replaced his worn-out clothing.

She really didn’t deserve his love.

She falls to the floor and cries into the wooden planks at his bedside. “What am I going to do without you James? It’s my fault you’re gone.” She whispers softly into the empty room. She squeezes her eyes shut to force out some tears and then opens them again. She notices a small box under his bed and reaches for it, pulling it out and settling it in front of her. Upon lifting the lid, she finds the box filled with small trinkets.

Some of them she recognizes, like a water-damaged journal she used to press flowers into when she studied them as a child. She’s in a state of disbelief that he’s kept it all these years. She had dropped it into a puddle when she was eleven and made poor James fish it out for her—but she threw a fit because it was ruined. She opens the page marked with a ribbon to find that he continued to fill the book with his own notes about flowers and plants. One of the entries is of the heart-shaped herb from the Wakandas. Less than six months ago, he wrote: _The Wakandans believe this plant has divine properties. Their culture tells them that the legendary and mysterious black panther with violet eyes grew from the stem of the very first heart-shaped herb. No one has ever seen such a beast. The Wakandan wise women have cultivated the herb and use it in their medicines and potions. Some say that there is a forgotten alchemical recipe for a potion which grants the drinker a wish. I know what I would wish for, but I have always told my young princess that she should not dwell on legends. If such a potion truly existed, I would have already gone to the ends of the earth, and sold my soul, to find it._

She closes the book and sets it aside. Most of the papers inside the box are letters from his mother. There is a correspondence from the hospital informing him that she died of the fever, and a letter from the bank passing on her worth to him—one silver coin. It’s in the box, too. He never had the heart to spend it.

At the very bottom of the box, there is what looks to be a jewelry box, and a crumpled paper sticking out of it. She opens it. There’s a delicate, dainty chain with a single pearl attached. She smooths out the abused parchment and James’ handwriting is scrawled across the page:

_If I were a man born worthy of your love, I would have presented you with a ring and asked you to marry me today. I was not blessed with such an honor, and so I must continue to love you in secret. I hope this necklace is a more subtle gesture to prove that my heart belongs to you._

_Happy eighteenth birthday, my dearest Princess (Y/N)._

(Y/N) can’t imagine what kind of lengths he had to go to find such a gift, let alone what he had to do to pay for it. She curls up in his bed, clutching the letter and the pearl necklace, still dressed in her tear-stained gown.

She doesn’t move for the next four days. She refuses to eat, to speak, to feel. Steven got so worried about her health that he had to hold her down while a maiden forced some water down her throat. Tears welled in his eyes when she begged him to just let her die so that she can be with James again.

He had to excuse himself and cry in a corner of the hallway to recover from that. His heart weeps for her. He wishes he could take all her pain away. She truly doesn’t know how to live without him.

On the fifth day after James’ funeral, her sorrow turns to anger. Pure, unfiltered, anger. She threw a glass dish at her reflection in her vanity mirror. Screamed at everyone for the smallest of things that might remind her of James. Smashed a glass vase on the ground that’s been in the palace for generations. Cut up her curtains with James’ sword, and because she doesn’t know how to wield such a weapon, she lost her grip and cut her leg. She doesn’t tell anyone about it though, and the wound festers and she gets _very_ sick for a week. They have to call Doctor Banner in from the village to give her some emergency-ordered Wakandan medicine before the infection reaches her heart.

She’s watched around the clock by her maidens now. Her government deems her unfit for duty and unanimously votes to place her on a mandatory leave of absence until she regains her decorum. The tantrums end at supper and to everyone’s surprise, she slowly pads into the dining room and takes a seat next to Steven, who’s joined by their Prime Ministers. She doesn’t speak while she’s eating, but the fact that she’s there proves that she’s working her way through the stages of grief.

After supper, she goes back to her room and sobs into her pillow again, consumed by guilt. She blames herself for James’ death, and screams in agony so loudly that Steven and her guards thinks she’s being attacked in her room.

_If I had just married King Brock, or even accepted his necklace, none of this would have happened. If I hadn’t rejected him so rudely, maybe they’d all still be alive. It’s my fault. They’re dead, and it’s all my fault._

After she recovers from her infection, she feels a pressure to stand up and return to her duties as any good Queen would. The country is relying on her for leadership. She can’t disappoint them any longer. With all the strength and courage she has, she prepares herself for court, but not before clasping James’ necklace around her neck, and vows to never take it off. She sits in with Parliament and conducts herself in a manner becoming of a queen. The men of the chamber are obviously upset to have that power returned back to her, but they have no choice but to respect it. It is the proper balance.

Steven sits in with her, but he cannot offer her advice, even if she asks for it. It would be inappropriate of him to influence her decisions on state matters. He sits silently, observing. He’s really only there to… _protect_ her—if that’s even the right word for it. He doesn’t want all these men and their politics to take advantage of her emotional disarray.

The days move one, and slowly, Steven’s presence in the palace simply becomes background noise. (Y/N) gave him a room to conduct his own matters of state with Prime Minister Wilson. He has his own country to rebuild and govern. News travels slow across the border, but Steven and Samuel are two of the most respected men in Midgard. Their government patiently waits for their word on political matters. And matters of war.

 _War_. That was the first thing his government wanted. To wage a war with Sokovia to punish them for the actions of their King and Army. Steven refused. When (Y/N)’s government intervened and requested she declare war as well, she also refused.

Instead, Steven and (Y/N) sent a letter to Asgard, asking for an audience with Prince Loki, King Thor’s younger brother. He joins them now, for a private supper.

“I am so glad you could make it on such short notice, Prince Loki.” (Y/N) says to him during the first course of the meal. “I know it was a sudden request, but I’m afraid the matter of which we wish to speak to you about is time-sensitive.”

“I am all ears, your Majesty.” Loki says, his voice smooth as butter.

Loki has a reputation for being…mischievous. When (Y/N) was fifteen and Thor took the throne of Asgard, (Y/N) saw Loki sitting across the room, observing the ceremony.

Where other people would see jealousy in his eyes, (Y/N) only saw a forgotten and irrelevant sibling. She understood. Being seventh in line for the crown has a way of making one a bit envious on occasion. She doesn’t think Loki is a bad person. He is simply misunderstood.

(Y/N) takes a deep breath and a sip of her wine. “It is a matter regarding Sokovia.” She says.

“Ah. The treasonous, lawless country.”

“Perhaps the government. Not the people.”

“I don’t understand how a country with endless jewels buried in the rock beneath their feet can manage to be so poor and decrepit.”

“That was King Brock’s doing. Any money they made from their gems, Brock would use for his own pleasures. He nearly bankrupt the country.” Steve quips.

“Despicable man. Did you know we Asgardians threw a celebration when we heard of his death? Vile men of the Rumlow House have no place in this world.”

“What would you do if you were in our place, Prince Loki? To repair the damage he has done to his country?” (Y/N) asks.

“Investments, your Majesty.” He answers without blinking. “A country cannot function if the people live their lives knowing nothing of dirt and darkness. Investments in the industry, in infrastructure—those are the things that will get the country back on its feet. If it were my jurisdiction, everyone would be versed in the arts. It would be a country that appreciates beauty, and simple pleasures. Not a country that overindulges in expensive luxury.”

“A noble undertaking.” (Y/N) says, putting her knife down on the plate and taking Loki’s hand. “Prince Loki of Asgard, would you like to do it?”

“Do what?” He asks with wide eyes.

“Take Sokovia under your wing? Rule it as your own?”

Loki laughs. “You wish to give me a country? You tease, surely?”

“Well, I have more than enough land to look after already!”

“And Sokovia is nowhere near Midgard. It would make no sense for me to claim a country so far away from my capital.” Steven adds.

Loki lets out a shaky breath. “You mean to say I no longer have to live in Asgard, in my brother’s shadow?” he asks rhetorically. “Well…you may call me King Loki of Jotunheim.”

“Jotunheim?” (Y/N) asks him in confusion.

“Sokovia is a country with far too much tragic history. Jotunheim has no such place for tragedy, except for in the theater.”

(Y/N) stands and raises her wine glass in toast. “To Jotunheim, then… _your_ _Majesty_. May you and your country have a long and prosperous future.”

*****

Steven has asked Samuel and Anthony to join him for afternoon tea.

“I apologize for pulling you both away from your duties. I know you must be busy—but I have something I wish to discuss and I could use your advice and expertise. I believe you both to be the best at what you do, considering you’re both Prime Minister in your respective countries.”

“You know you are one of my closest friends, Steven. I understand times are troubling. I am here for you.” Samuel says to his friend. They share respectful nods.

Stark, on the other hand, is much more apprehensive. “It is my job to serve the _Queen_ and _her_ best interests, not yours.”

“What I wish to speak to you about _is_ for the Queen’s best interests.”

Stark takes a sip of his tea and waits for him to continue. Steven takes a deep breath. “It’s now been several weeks since the attack on Midgard. My palace was destroyed. Midgard is also the place of James’ death. And here, in her own lands, yet again she is faced with more death. I believe she would be happier if she had something to call her own away from these places. A new palace for a new reign. A new chapter in history.”

Stark scoffs. “Preposterous! You propose in such a sorrowful time for our people that we display such an extravagance with the royal budget?”

“I’m sorry Stark,” Samuel snarks back, “is extravagance not your specialty?”

Stark begins to stand, his ego offended, but Steven stops him. “I am not proposing you empty your coffers building her a new home. I am proposing that I would like to gift her with a new palace. My paintings are highly sought after by royals and aristocrats across the world. I have always turned down their offers, making them much more valuable. I could sell them and raise most, if not all of the money with great ease. The rest would come from my palace’s insurance.”

“And where would you be living, your Majesty?” Stark asks. “You speak as if you expect this to be your home as well. Do not humor yourself by believing our dear young Queen would marry you so soon after such tragedy.”

“I would make my home her in this palace, or build something humble in my own country should she ask me to leave.”

Stark leans back in his chair and rubs his beard. “I have no objections. But I suspect you did not ask me here for my approval only. What more would you ask of me?”

“To make sure that these plans do not reach her ears. I do not want her to think this is a gift out of pity. She has enough to worry about at present. I do not desire to become another stressor.”

Samuel gives a suggestive brow wiggle to Steven. “You speak fondly of her Majesty.”

“It is more than a fondness, Prime Minister. I would do anything to make her happy.

“Bold words coming from a man she just met.” Stark interjects. “Do you think she feels the same for you?”

The Gentle King thinks about his answer. She asked him the same think but a few days ago—he told her no. He saw the love she had for James, it’s purity, and knew he’d never be blessed with the same. He sighs. “I think she cares for me, and the attention I so freely give her. She has bewitched my soul. But no, Stark, I do not think she loves me as I do her. I think in time, she could feel a love for me, but I would not ask her to marry me before I was sure of it.”

Stark chokes on his tea. “She is not yours to propose to!” he says after clearing his throat. Steven gives him a raised brow in curiosity. Stark goes so far as to roll his eyes. “You and your Midgardian customs have no such authority here! You cannot ask for status in our lands in such a way!”

“Calm down, Stark. I did not mean to offend.” Steven says in innocence.

 “The reigning sovereign has the sole authority to propose a royal union. You cannot ask to marry her! The marriage would be void before you even met her at the altar. She must propose to you. She must bestow a title to you. You cannot ask her for one!”

Steven sits back into his chair—almost in defeat. He rubs his beard and lets out a deep breath. There are no such rules in Midgard, it is simply the custom that a man would propose to a woman, no matter status. Steven comes to the painful realization that he might never marry her if she does not heal from the loss of James.

She may choose to remain the invisible widow.

Steven stands, suddenly in the mood for solitude. “None of this changes my desire to gift her with a new palace. I will deal with the funding. Begin designing immediately. Thank you for your company, gentleman.”

He walks slowly, with his hands behind his back, towards his guest room. He requests that he is not disturbed for the rest of the day.

He even denies (Y/N)’s request to join him for a private supper in her suite. Selfish, maybe. But he has plenty of work to keep him occupied. And he just wants to be alone.

(Y/N) notices the atmosphere feels heavy without him.

She doesn’t wish to be alone. So she asks Lord Wilson to join her instead.

“How long have you served as Prime Minister, Lord Wilson?” she asks him during their second course.

“Ten years. I served five years, was drafted to fight in the Sokovian riots when King Brock took rule, and then came back and served for another five.”

“Good gracious. You must be very popular with the people, then?” she says, trying to hide her discomfort at the mention of that wicked man.

“I think they care more for my service record than they do my person.”

“Why did you leave the Army, if I may ask? Were you injured in the Sokovian riots?”

“No, ma’am. But I lost someone very close to me on the front lines. I found it very hard to find a reason to go back.”

“I am sorry, Samuel. I didn’t know. I did not mean to bring up such painful memories.” She whispers, taking his hand in hers.

“It is alright. I believe I should be apologizing to you for your losses.”

“Please.” She shakes her head. “Suffering is not a tournament.” She smiles to him and then sits back in her chair so that they may be served a new course. She stabs a small piece of roasted vegetable on her fork and takes a bite. She chews slowly, and then rests the heel of her palms on the table. “Lord Wilson, may I ask you something about his Majesty?”

“Of course.”

“He is regarded as the Gentle King around the world. Do you believe that to be an apt description of him?”

“I have never met a kinder soul in all my years of life. King Steven can be stubborn, exceedingly so. He oftentimes sincerely believes he knows what is best for all peoples, in all situations. He has a much more difficult time accepting advice than giving it. But he is gentle, yes. Honorable and true. Courageous. Selfless. Do you not see these things in him?”

“He is a very admirable man, yes.” She says. “Yesterday…I was at a private meeting with my own Prime Minister. He informed me that just a few hours earlier, there was an outrage in my parliament building that I handed over Sokovia…particularly its _resources_ , to the now-King Loki of Jotunheim. They said it was a scandal and blamed his Majesty for influencing me to make such a poor decision. They wish for him to leave. Immediately.”

Samuel sits back in his chair and raises his brow. “What will you do?”

“Well I don’t want him to leave. I cannot just throw him out of the palace at such a time.” She stands and smooths out her dress. “Which leaves me with only one other option.”

Samuel leans forward with curiosity. “Which is, ma’am?”

“I must ask him to marry me.”

Samuel stays quiet for a long time. “You would marry him for convenience?” he asks, a bit offended.

“My father promised me to him for _convenience_.” She quips back, catching the irritation in his tone. “No, Samuel, I would not marry him for convenience. I want to marry him for love. But I need time…to make sure that when I propose I do so from my heart. Do you think he would ever accept my proposal?”

Samuel stands and walks over to her, taking her hands in his. “I think he desires nothing more in this world than love— _your_ love. But he does not want you to give it to him while your heart lies with another.”

She nods to him and they sit back down at the table. They finish their meal in silence.

*****

It is morning. The birds are chirping and bathing in the fountain in the royal gardens. (Y/N) sits at a table and draws them while they splash around. It is a crude drawing. Disproportionate and awkward. She takes a sip of tea.

She sent for Steven an hour ago, asking him to join her outside so that they may draw together. Finally, as she’s getting ready to leave, he emerges from behind her and leans over her chair to observe her drawing.

“I think it is a beautiful drawing.” He compliments her.

“And I think it looks as if a five-year-old got into your art supplies.”

He laughs at her and offers her a warm smile. He leans down to press a quick kiss to her temple.

“I have missed you.” She whispers, resting their foreheads together. “I call for you every night and you never come.”

“I’m sorry, my darling. I have had a nightmarish amount of correspondence coming from my country since the attack.”

She innocently scoffs. “I thought you were angry with me.”

“With you?” He shakes his head. “Never.” He kisses her temple again and then takes her hand in his, balancing the stick of charcoal in their fingers. He guides her hands along the page in front of her and instantly the image begins to come to life. “Shading does a world of difference with charcoal artwork. It creates balance to the composition.”

(Y/N) giggles. “Now my birds look like _birds_ instead of angry bushes! It is exquisite.” She looks at him and sighs wistfully. “You never got to teach me these things in Midgard.” She says, taking his cheek in her palm.

“Well since you’re a queen,” he says, taking a seat at the table next to her, “I’m afraid I’m going to have to charge royal prices.”

“And what would you value the price of your instruction?”

“One lesson, one kiss.”

“Preposterous!” she shrieks, and Steven’s face falls because he thinks he’s crossed a line. She breaks out into a fit of giggles. “The pleasure of your company is worth at least two, Steven.”

He lets out a deep sigh of relief. “Oh…you tease me.” He says, turning down his head in embarrassment.

She can’t contain her laugher when she notices him turning red. “You look like a strawberry.”

He’s the one to giggle now. “Well…you did read that letter from your father—I’ve never possessed the charm to woo the fairer sex.” He says with an awkwardness, reaching for a paper and some charcoal to begin his own drawing.

After a moment of comfortable silence, (Y/N)’s voice floats through the air like the gentle breeze. “I think you are very charming, Steven.”

His eyes flicker up to her and then back down to the paper. “And I think you are very lovely.”

“You’ve said that before. That lovely was at the beginning of your list. Surely you have other adjectives to describe me?”

His eyes flicker up to her again, and then back down to the paper once more and he grins. “I do. I think you are naïve, but not because you’re young, but because you always choose to see the good in people, always wish not to inconvenience them. You have not let the cruelty of the world break your spirit, even though you have every reason to crumble. You, my darling, are the strongest person I have ever met. And when you came to my palace and began jumping on my bed, I looked up at you and thought to myself, that you’re a flower in full bloom.”

“A flower?”

“Yes. Like an orchid. Very hard to grow, but vibrant and beautiful when in bloom. And season after season, you continue to find a way to grow even when the conditions are unfavorable. An orchid represents many of the things you are: elegant, innocent, graceful, joyous, royal, and above all, they are a symbol of a love. Love that is true and pure. Love many wish to have but only few are worthy of possessing.”

“You speak as if my love is truly so valuable.” She scoffs.

“But it is, my darling. I know you have grown up believing that marriage and love is only valuable if it represents a strong kingdom—but it is so much more than that. There are many kinds of love. There is love you have for family. There is love you have for your spouse. There is love you have for your children. There is love you have for friends. And there is one more, special love. _True_ love. Like the love you had for—”

“Don’t.” she interrupts, a tear escaping her eye and landing on her drawing, smearing the lines. “I can’t bear to hear his name.”

Steven looks at her with regret. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to make you upset. Sometimes my heart speaks too quickly for my brain to filter.”

“If you believe in true love, Steven, do you then believe that it is possible to have more than one?”

He sighs. “No. I think we only have one true love.”

“But what if I marry? Would I not feel true love for my husband?”

“I think you will find that your true love and the man you are meant to marry may not be the same person. But that doesn’t mean that the love you have for the man you marry is any less true. It will just be…different.”

“Have you ever been in love, Steven?”

He looks at her and finishes the final line of his drawing. He looks down at his work and grins at it. “Yes. Yes, I have.”

(Y/N)’s heart sinks. He must still love her if he looks like that when he thinks about her.

Steven looks up at her. “I don’t think I could ever love anyone else. I think she is my true love, even if I am not hers.”

She looks down in defeat. “She must be very special to be loved by you in such a way.”

He chuckles and then looks down at his drawing.

“Yes. She is very special.” He says, turning over the picture so that she can see it.

It’s _her_. In the drawing.

And in his heart.

*****

**One Month Later**

Steven has been incredibly stressed since he talked with (Y/N) in the garden. His work consumes him. Every moment from dawn till dusk is filled with matters of state. He’s asked not to be disturbed while he works today. He’s approving designs for the palace he’s trying to build for his beloved. It’s a break from his usual work, but still stressful. He’s an artist, and his artist eyes demand perfection. From the blueprints to every last curtain fabric and doorknob, the size of the courtyards to every single stone under their feet—it must all be perfect.

There’s a gentle knock on the door, and in a fit of annoyance, he yells out for the disturbance to leave. When the door opens still, Steven stands up to scold the interruption and make a bigger fit. When he turns around, he sees (Y/N) standing in the doorway, the light from the window just outside his room casting a golden halo around her. The irritation in his eyes turns to pure softness and adoration from simply looking at her.

“Hello, my darling.” She softly calls from across the room, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. Steven crosses his arms as she walks closer to him, suddenly embarrassed with his state of disarray. He has not groomed himself properly in a week. He’s thankful to his past self for at least bathing this morning. His heart flutters when she steps near enough to take his hands in hers and notices her dress. Navy blue velvet. He hasn’t seen her wear any color other than black since James’ death.

Navy blue was his favorite color. It’s Steven’s too.

He looks at her and gives her an embarrassed smile. “I’m sorry about my state of dress. If I had known you were coming to visit I would have made myself presentable.”

She shakes her head to him. “No need for apologies, dear Steven. I am intruding on your space and private time. I only came to ask you to join me for a walk this morning. I don’t believe I’ve yet had an opportunity to take you through the entirety of my royal gardens. They are beautiful this time of year.”

“It would be an honor.” Steven answers without hesitation, bringing her left hand up to his lips to place a kiss on her knuckles. “Please, allow me a few moments to dress?”

“Of course. Take all the time you need. I shall be waiting outside.”

She backs away from him and has a smile on her face as she leaves through the door. Steven gets dressed as fast as he’s able and uses a bit of water to tame his hair. It is in desperate need of a cut, as is his beard. He usually keeps his beard full because he thinks it makes him look more like a man, but it’s gotten a little ridiculous. He rubs some water over his chin to try and shape it in a way that looks more put-together.

He hastily makes his way outside. (Y/N) is waiting for him just at the bottom of the steps. They greet each other with smiles instead of words. She takes him by his arm and they walk slowly and silently through the gardens. It is very peaceful. Warm. Inviting. He is incredibly grateful for her to have pulled him away from his work. He might have lost his mind if he kept himself in that room any longer.

They pass by the crypt where her family is buried and stops walking, taking a moment to look up to the sky and speak to them in her head. She closes her eyes and tells her father: _I will make you proud today, Papa._

She swears that the breeze and the sounds of nature speak back to her saying: _I already am_.

She turns her attention back to Steven and takes his hand in hers, and that’s how they walk. Holding hands is an extremely intimate gesture, and very informal. This is a private, special moment, though. She thinks such intimacy is warranted. A few more minutes of walking, and they arrive at a large area separated by tall hedges. Inside, the flowers.

It is a lovely sight. So full of color and life. It is serene. A luxury of peace that has been rarely afforded to them recently. They walk through each row of flowers, admiring their beauty. (Y/N) looks to her side at Steven. He gives her a small grin with just the corners of his mouth.

“I thought some fresh air and sunlight would be good for us. We have not had much time to…enjoy things lately. I do believe I have chosen a lovely day for a walk.”

“You do have an eye for beauty, my darling.”

“Have you been well Steven? I am afraid that in my grief I have selfishly forgotten all you’ve lost as well.”

He shakes his head. “There is no need to feel guilt on top of your grief. I have been well, but stressed. It becomes very difficult to run a country when I am so far away from it.”

“I understand. But your people respect you, know you are doing your best. They see you for who you are in your heart. As can I.”

“Your words do me great honor, your Majesty.”

(Y/N) takes a deep breath as they walk another few steps before stopping. In front of the orchids. A symbol of love. She turns to face him and holds his hands to her chest.

“Steven…in the short time that I have known you, you’ve done me a many kindness. Offered me kind words at my family’s funeral and checked on me afterwards. Gifted James and I extravagant horses. Told me the truth about our engagement. Opened your home to me. Defended me. Granted my dear James his dying wish.” A tear falls from her eye. “That is a debt I’m afraid I could never truly repay.”

  “(Y/N)…” he says softly, pressing his hand to her cheek.

“Please, Steven, I don’t speak in such a way very often, so let me finish.” She says with a quiver in her voice. “I could never repay you for such kindness. There is but one thing I can offer you to show my gratitude, and prove how truly happy I am to have you in my life. That is my heart. Forever.”

He wipes away a tear from her cheek. “Have you not already given me that?”

She shakes her head. “No. Not fully. A part of me—the part of me that was never supposed to be queen—truly thought that James and I had a chance. I thought I could give up my title, run away with him and give him back the love he had always given me. The love I robbed him of when he agreed to be my protector. That hope followed me until his death, and even afterward, all I wanted was to be with him. But then I realized how absolutely selfish that was. To believe that I deserved his love and yours in the same capacity. It would have been a horrible disservice to you both to choose one over the other.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself, my darling.”

“But I do, Steven! I do!” she shrieks with a shaky voice. “Because you were right about love. That the man I’m in love with, and the man I’m _meant_ to love are two different people. I need you to know now…that when I tell you that _I love you_ , my heart speaks the truth. My _whole_ heart.”

Steven offers her a smile, for he has been waiting for her confession for so long. He feels such a happiness in his chest to know that he has succeeded in filling a void in her heart that he thought he would never be able to compete with. He has earned her love without forcing her to pretend that she can’t love James, too.

He leans down to kiss her, slowly. He pulls back and rests their foreheads together. “You have no idea how much your words mean to me, (Y/N).”

“But I don’t just have words.” She says. With one last deep breath, and with all of her courage, she gives her heart to him. “My dear Steven, gentle King of Midgard. Would you do me this honor, and agree to be my husband?” Another tear escapes her eye. “Will you marry me?”

He’s the one to cry now as he sinks to his knees to kneel. “Yes, my darling. I will marry you if you will allow me one thing.” He pulls a small velvet box from his pocket that he’s been carrying around for weeks, and opens it to reveal an antique diamond ring that belonged to his mother. “Allow me to place this ring on your hand as a symbol of our love?”

She nods, and he slides the band onto her ring finger. Without another moment’s hesitation, he rises to his feet, takes her face in his hands, and seals their engagement with a kiss.

*****

“Are you ready, my darling?” Steven whispers into her ear, fastening a diamond pin to the sash  resting over her shoulder.

She looks at him in the mirror and nods. “Yes. I’m ready.”

“Remember, my darling, this is decision by right. They will try to convince you otherwise, but you must demand their respect for them to give it to you.”

They kiss, and Steven waits for her outside of the throne room while she makes her speech to her government. He’s already met with his own in a private meeting back in the Midgardian Parliament building.

Her ministers make a path for her as she walks through the room and steps up the navy-blue stairs to her gilded throne and slowly lowers herself into the seat and pulls a paper from her dress pocket. Her entire government has gathered there at her request. She takes a deep breath.

“Thank you, my Lords, for joining me here on such short notice as I’m sure you are all very busy. Since it was last my privilege to meet with you all, there have been great changes in your ranks. We have found traitors scattered throughout the land and it is my responsibility to ensure my people are served by those who are vested in their best interests. In order to execute such a responsibility, I have made a decision to which I must inform you on this day.” She looks down at her paper and begins to read her scribbled handwriting. “I have sought a union by marriage to King Steven of Midgard.”

Already, whispers fill the room.

Their whispers grow louder but she ignores them to continue. “We wish to join our nations into one, bearing the name Midgard, and seek to style our future children, and their children, under the name Brooklyn House. I hope that you will bless this union so that it may be conducive to the future of this new country, as well as our own domestic happiness.”

The whispers grow into a soft outrage.

“Your Majesty, if I may?” One of the men in the room boasts. He walks with a limp and requires the assistance of a cane. “While we are all in near-unanimous approval in your choice of _groom_ , we…worry that joining our countries would fester great instability among the governing bodies.”

(Y/N) narrows her eyes at him. Steven told her she should expect this. “By instability, Lord Killian, do you mean that you worry you may lose your place in government to a younger man, or even perhaps a _woman_?”

“I only mean that between our government we have two Prime Ministers and many elected officials. To whom will the decision fall on which of us gets to keep our place?”

“You needn’t worry about the position of the Prime Minister, Lord Killian. Lord Stark’s wife, Virginia, is pregnant with their first child and he wishes to retire. I have asked Lord Wilson of Midgard to take his place once the union of our countries is complete, and he has accepted.” She stands up. “As for the rest of you—the people will hold a free election at the earliest possible convenience after our marriage.”

Another minister steps forward and slams his cane down on the floor most aggressively. “This is not a game! I will not approve of you giving up this country under the guise of love. You realize the King of Midgard only means to strip you of your power?” he shouts, so loud Steven can hear him through the door. The entire chamber silences in shock at his outburst in front of the Queen. “It is a scandal! I will not stand by while your most naïve Majesty foolishly lets some foreign King dismantle this country!”

“Lord Ross you forget yourself!” she says back to him with a clear and loud voice, not yet a shout. “You _also_ needn’t worry. The King has promised I will sit by his side still as Queen Regnant.”

“It is reprehensible!”

(Y/N) steps down the small staircase and speaks directly to him. “It is my right as your Sovereign to make this decision. Asking for your approval is a courtesy, not a request for permission. We will wed in three months-time. I apologize in advance if your invitation gets lost by the mail boy.” She stands tall and rolls her shoulders back. “After all, if I remember correctly, you were in full support of appointing Alexander Pierce as my father’s Private Secretary, and he was found to be colluding with King Brock and the Redskulls that killed my family, subsequentially hung for treason. Surely I don’t have to remind you that it was by _my_ request that you and others who supported Pierce during his time in government did not suffer the same fate. I do not need your advice, nor do I value it. We will see if the _people_ wish for you to remain here. You may have foolish old men in your pocket but you will never, _ever_ , have me.” She turns to face the rest of her ministers. “Good day, my Lords.”

(Y/N) walks towards the doors, two footmen opening them for her. She turns the corner and jumps straight into Steven’s arms, giggling. He spins her and places her on her feet again before kissing her deeply. “I told you! They cower at the first sight of your strength. Now all we have to do is count down the days until I can call you mine.”

She holds his cheeks in her hands. “I am already yours, Steven. There is but one more gift I have to give you.” She kisses him again. “But it will have to wait until our wedding night.” She whispers into his ear. He turns as red as a strawberry again, and she laughs before taking his arm to walk with him down the hall so that they may enjoy the rest of their day.

From inside the throne room, Prime Minister Stark approaches the minister Lord Ross to snark at him. “I wish you luck in the election when the public finds out you disapprove of the most favorable match in the history of our countries.”

Lord Ross stomps angrily out of the room and the rest of them share a laugh at his expense, watching their young Queen, and soon to be, their King, canter down the halls of _their_ palace.  

*****

**Three Months Later**

“I’m getting married today.” (Y/N) says to the ceiling when she wakes up. Her gentle fingers run along her collarbone to feel the dainty chain of the pearl necklace. She closes her hands around the pearl and shuts her eyes to speak directly to _him_. “I am marrying Steven, but I will never stop loving you, James.” She promises. She turns her head to where her wedding dress stands on a mannequin. Pearls are sewn into the fabric, and orchids are strategically pinned to her veil and peppered into her bouquet. A tiara sits on her vanity. A diamond necklace was brought out too, but she will not remove James’ pearl—even today.

Moments later, her maidens bring in a dish of breakfast to eat while she gets pampered and ready for her ceremony this afternoon. Someone is rubbing her feet, another rubbing her neck. Another maiden is rubbing lotion on her body and another is making sure she is _intimately_ groomed.

(Y/N)’s cheeks heat up. Steven, in the past three months, has assured her repeatedly that if she’s not ready to lay with him, she doesn’t have to. Just because it’s tradition to engage in intercourse on a wedding night, doesn’t mean that they have to. She, on the other hand, has repeatedly assured him that she _wants_ to. She wants to join their souls in the most intimate of ways. Wants to prove to him that she is his, in every way possible. In ways she could never give James. She hates herself for comparing them so often, but it is so difficult to not let her mind wander to such things when they were so close to crossing that forbidden line once.

Her heart speeds up at the thought of Steven seeing her body for the first time. She hopes he will think she is a beautiful _woman_ , and not a little girl. She also no longer wants to be referred to as the Virgin Queen. Her virginity and maidenhood has only been used against her thus far during her reign—particularly by the wicked King Brock and his vile creatures. She does not wish to be associated with that chapter of her life any longer.

Everything has changed. Five months ago, she was a careless, spoiled brat of a princess. Seventh in line for her own crown. Due to be married off to Steven in an arranged marriage in three years’ time, yet hopelessly in love with her dear James. Now, her family is dead. She’s the Queen. James is dead. She’s asked Steven to marry her for love.

And the most painful part of it all is that after her father died, she had hopes that if she could not marry James, she would ask him to walk her down the aisle. Now that she has lost him, she sent word to Colonel Rhodes to take that honor, and he graciously accepted.

After her hair, makeup, and skin have been pampered and prepared, her dressers help her into her gown. One secures her veil and crown to her head, and another wraps her father’s handkerchief around her bouquet. Finally, a maiden tries to replace James’ pearl with a diamond necklace, but (Y/N) refuses. Instead, it is woven into the flowers of her bouquet.

She observes herself in the mirror, and she smiles. Today is a celebration of her love for Steven, and a union of their countries. After they exchange vows, their countries will become one, and they will be coronated as the first King and Queen of the new nation—crowned _equals_.

Colonel Rhodes is waiting outside of her room to escort her to the carriage, where she will be taken to the massive cathedral which will soon function as the new parliament building. He kisses her hand.

“Your Majesty.” He regards. “You are the picture of beauty.”

“Thank you, Colonel. I thank you for agreeing to walk me down the aisle.” She says with a gentle smile.

“It is a great honor, ma’am, though I could never take the place of your father. I am sorry your family could not be here on such a joyous occasion.”

“Yes.” She sighs with a mist in her eyes, wiping it away with her father’s handkerchief. “I miss them very much.” She sniffles once more and then holds out her arm, ready to meet Steven at the altar. “Shall we?”

*****

If her family had not died on her eighteenth birthday, and she made it to her twenty-first just to have her father tell her that she is to be married off to the King of Midgard in a political offering, she would have likely resented Steven for the rest of her life. But now, as she stands at the altar with him, she can’t imagine her life having turned out any other way. Yes, her heart aches still at the loss of James. His absence is felt every day of her life. Every morning she wakes up and expects him to be waiting to escort her to breakfast, and she has to relive her grief every time. She misses him so much that her heart cannot bear it some days. Her eyes perceive color a little duller, and air does not fill her lungs in the same way. Venison stew doesn’t taste the same, and neither do strawberries. She will never stop missing James, and she fears that being loved by her is a curse that will steal Steven’s life too.

But right now, she looks at him with adoration, and his eyes return the gesture. There is no doubt in her mind that Steven’s explanation of love was perfect. James was her great true love, but Steven is the man she was meant to marry.

And she loves them both with her full heart.

After they exchange vows, they turn to face the cathedral doors. Their Prime Ministers, Samuel and Anthony, wait with their ceremonial state crowns in their hands, ready to place them on their new sovereign’s heads.

Today, two souls and two nations become one.

*****

**Three Days Later**

(Y/N) and Steven are having a private luncheon in the garden. A butterfly lands on a daisy next to her, and she holds out her finger for the delicate creature to crawl on. She lifts the butterfly to her eyeline so that she may get a better look.

“Such beauty.” She speaks to it. “It’s hard to believe that a humble little caterpillar could transform itself into something so great.”

“You were once a caterpillar, my darling.” Steven says into his coffee cup.

(Y/N) grins softly to the butterfly. “I thought I was an orchid, no?”

“If only you could see yourself through my eyes, you would understand why I can see everything beautiful in nature in just the color of your eyes.”

“You have been reading far too much Shakespeare, my darling.” She teases back to his poetic affections. The butterfly takes flight and (Y/N) watches it fly towards the Prime Minister, who steps quickly, with great conviction.

“Lord Samuel!” (Y/N) greets. “Good morning. Would you like to join us for lunch? The rabbit is exquisite.”

“No, thank you ma’am. I am…I am actually here to be the bearer of ill tidings.” He says softly.

(Y/N) and Steven stand up and take each other’s hands before stepping closer to Samuel. He takes a deep breath.

“Just this morning, Colonel Rhodes and his battalion were making their way here to join us for your Majesties’ annual military advisory panel. The Colonel was trekking through the forest when his horse’s leg got caught in an illegal trap. The Colonel was thrown off the beast and trampled several times before his men got it to relax. He has broken his back severely and I’m afraid the odds are not in his favor. He may never walk again.”

“Goodness.” (Y/N) says to herself, bringing her hand to her heart in sincere condolences. “We must visit him, at once.”

“Yes ma’am, I think that would be wise. He is currently at the Royal Hospital being treated by Dr. Banner.”

“Thank you for informing us, Prime Minister.” Steven says. They share a handshake and (Y/N) follows Steven inside so that they may leave as soon as possible.

“How awful.” (Y/N) mutters from behind a changing board while Steven slides on his riding boots. “We must do something spectacular for him. This is not the way his career should end.”

“I agree. I think we should hold a dinner in his honor.” Steven suggests.

(Y/N) scoffs. “No. No, no, no. that simply won’t do. We have dinners all the time. We’ve been married three days and already we’ve had enough luncheons and dinners and teas for an entire year! I was lucky to share a few moments alone this morning with my husband on our supposed honeymoon! I said spectacular, my darling, not ordinary.”

Steven smiles at her tone. She has been rather upset with her obligations to the government taking up all of the time they were meant to be spending together. She is so young. Expeditions are a novelty. State functions are so uneventful and unengaging to her. 

“What if we named a holiday in his honor? That’s about as spectacular as we have any right to give.”

(Y/N) says something, but a thick riding dress is being slipped over her head and muffles the words. “…distinguished military career. I think that is an excellent idea!”

Steven grins at her and dismisses her dressers so that he may fasten the clasps of her dress himself. He enjoys making this moment as intimate as it is when she lets him undress her. He kisses a sensitive point on her neck and she melts into his embrace. They join hands over her chest and her wedding rings sparkle in the dim light and reflect back into the mirror. “I love you.” He says to her.

Her cheeks heat up and she turns her head to kiss him. “I love you. Now come. This moment is not about us.” She warns.

He follows her like a puppy out to the stables where their horses are waiting for them and she stops to collect her thoughts for a moment, suddenly feeling guilty.

“Steven? Do you think that riding our horses would be a little…”

“Insensitive?” he finishes.

“Perhaps we should walk? It wouldn’t take much more time.”

Instead of answering her with words, he holds out his arm and they walk together towards the hospital. They are stopped a few times by friendly commoners who offer congratulations on their marriage. Some of the older women have already begun to observe her stomach for any sign that there may be a baby in there—as if there would be any signs so soon after a wedding. Still, some women think they have a nose for such things and can recognize the sign before she ever could.

When they arrive at the hospital, it is well guarded by Colonel Rhodes’ battalion, stationed strategically around the building. Dr. Banner meets them in the lobby.

“Your Majesties.” Dr. Banner says, bowing to Steven and kissing (Y/N)’s hand.

“How is he, Doctor?” (Y/N) asks with obvious concern.

“He is alive. I am just about to administer some twilight sleep so that he may get some rest, perhaps you’d like to see him beforehand?”

“Yes I would like that very much.” She answers, and Dr. Banner begins leading the way to the room.

Inside, Banner leads them to the bedside where the Colonel is awake but obviously in quite a bit of pain.

(Y/N) approaches him. “Colonel Rhodes—”

“Please!” Dr. Banner shrieks when she reaches for him. “Please, your Majesty, refrain from touching him. His spine is in a most vulnerable and delicate state. Any movement, even an inch, could injure it further.”

(Y/N) nods and then places her hands behind her back to avoid accidentally touching him. He looks to be in rough shape. Swollen, beaten, covered in braces to keep him still. “Colonel.” She says again. He blinks his eyes to acknowledge her. “We are so sorry to hear of your accident.”

“I feel it is the result of my actions.” Steven says, approaching the bedside. “Perhaps that horse was not as well-trained as I had thought before giving it to you.”

“Nonsense, Steven. The beast was in pain. The only fault is the person who set an illegal trap in the woods. We shall find them and have them arrested.”

“Nevertheless,” Steven continues. “I am sorry.”

“We wish you a quick recovery. Please, feel free to request anything of us during such a time. We would be happy to help. It’s the least we could do.”

The Colonel blinks again to acknowledge.

“Steven and I have decided to name a national holiday in your honor. The people will gather in the streets to celebrate you as one of the great men of our time.” A mist gathers in her eyes, but she continues. “I consider you one of the greatest influences in my life. Please, do take care of yourself. I do not wish to lose you.”

As she continues to speak to Rhodes with a one-sided conversation, Steven steps closer to Dr. Banner.

“Is there anything we can do?” he asks.

“As you may know, the Colonel and the former Prime Minister Lord Stark are great friends. Stark has an eye for philanthropy. I believe he wishes to develop a device to help the Colonel walk should he require it during recovery. If I may suggest, perhaps, sending word to Queen Shuri requesting her help. She has such a bright mind—her country is far more developed in the medical field than we are. I imagine she may have a solution that we have not thought of.”

Steven nods. “I shall see to it. And please, while you’re here, do anything you feel is necessary. Spare no expense for the Colonel’s care. The Queen and I shall see that it is paid for.” They look to where (Y/N) is still babbling on to him. “She has lost so many people she loves. Do not let Rhodes be another.”

Dr. Banner can tell Rhodes must be getting agitated—not from the Queen, but from the intense pain. He takes a syringe and fills it with the sedative. He approaches them cautiously.

“Forgive me, your Majesty, but I think it best to let the Colonel rest now.”

“Of course.” She replies, understanding that his comfort is of the utmost important right now. She offers Rhodes a smile and then steps away so that Dr. Banner can administer the medicine.

(Y/N) and Steven leave once Rhodes falls asleep. She has some wetness in her eyes. Her body shakes with emotions of turmoil—scared she may lose yet another person she cares for. After her coronation, Rhodes became sort of a background father figure of sorts. She wrote to him often after the attack on Midgard. He always made a point to answer her letters promptly, no matter how pressing his other correspondence was.

“He will be okay, my darling.” Steven says in comfort. “He has the advantage of the best doctors in the world.”

“I know.” She says back. “He is a strong man. His future endeavors will not be limited by this injury. I just wish I could ease his pain.”

“I know that when I served in my own army, whenever my mother would visit wounded troops in the hospitals, they always spoke of how much her presence boosted morale. Soldiers love ceremony—it is a distraction from the pains and perils of the battlefield. To get a visit from their Queen is of inestimable value.”

“I hope Colonel Rhodes feels the same.”

She sounds so defeated. Stevens heart twists at her tone. As they are walking, he pulls her hand to his mouth to kiss her knuckles.

“Perhaps when we return home, we should go into the gardens and pick some flowers for Rhodes. Some beauty in that stale, colorless hospital room may do him some good.”

“Oh, my darling, I think that is a wonderful idea but I do not feel myself right now. I think I would like to retire for the night.”

Although it is still early in the afternoon, Steven understands that when she is upset, the best thing he can do for her is to give her space. She will come for his comfort when she is ready. When they arrive back at the palace, he walks with her to their room and then leaves her with a kiss to the forehead. As he backs away from the room, she reaches for his hand to stop him. He searches her eyes for the answer to the question he has not asked: what does she want of him? He would do anything to make her feel better.

She stays silent, but pulls his hand to her heart so that he may feel it nearly pounding out of her chest. Then, leads his hand to the curve of her breast.

 _I love you_ , she mouths to him.

He mouths back the same, before capturing her lips and showing her just how much.

*****

**Three Months Later**

(Y/N) is sleeping well into the afternoon. Her body languid and exhausted from the previous night’s activities. Steven was up before the sun was, outside the palace supervising a project he’s gone far and wide to find the means of creating. He ran back inside the palace as soon as it was finished, just as (Y/N) is finished dressing for the day.

He greets her with a kiss on the cheek. “Good morning, my darling. Sleep well?”

“Quite.” She rolls her eyes at herself. “I can’t imagine what’s come over me. I’m hardly one to miss breakfast and luncheon. My maidens only woke me because we have a state dinner this evening.”

He retrieves her shawl from over the dressing screen and wraps it around her shoulders, pulling her along with it. “I must show you something before we attend to affairs of state.”

She giggles at him and follows him outside where they come across a relatively small structure that is new to the castle grounds. Outside, a brunette woman waits patiently for them to approach.

“Your Majesty.” She greets and curtseys.

“My, darling, this is Maya Hansen. A great mind, and lead professor of botany at the Royal Academy in Midgard Proper.”

“A female professor?” (Y/N) asks. “I am so glad to hear it. To what do we owe the pleasure of your company?”

“His Majesty asked me to help him with a project. You see, he was very concerned about your orchids having no place to flourish in the summer months.”

“Quite right. Our orchids are very important to us.”

“Of course, ma’am. That is why I created this structure.” She motions to it with her hand. “It is called a greenhouse, and it can be made suitable for almost any type of plant you desire with minimal modifications. It would allow your orchids to grow year-round.”

“Goodness! That is exquisite, I must see!” she squeals with glee. Steven sends her a smile and opens the door for the ladies, allowing Ms. Hansen to take the lead and explain the greenhouse with her own expertise. The air inside the greenhouse is a bit stuffy, and they begin to walk slower on account of the Queen beginning to trail behind them. In the center of the greenhouse is a table set up so that Maya may show them how to tend to the delicate plants. Midway through the presentation, (Y/N) begins to feel a bit dizzy and sways, losing her footing and stumbling into Steven.

He catches her and looks at her with great concern. “Are you alright, my darling?”

She stands up straight and wipes some sweat from her forehead with a handkerchief. “I think I need some air.”

“Yes ma’am, it is quite hot in here.” Maya says to her when the Queen looks at her apologetically. 

Steven leads her out of the greenhouse and kneels so that she can sit on his thigh, and pats the sweat off of her heated cheeks for her. She leans against his body for more stability. Steven’s concern grows tenfold.

“My darling, perhaps we should cancel the state dinner. I do not want you to overexert yourself.”

“Nonsense, Steven, I slept until noon today! I was simply overheated.”

“At least allow me to send for Dr. Banner.”

She gives him a wistful grin and cups his cheek in her hand. “If you must. But you will see! It will simply be a waste of his time. It is merely a consequence of walking around in all these corsets and dresses and shawls in the summer.”

He raises his eyebrow and gives her a mischievous smile, taking up the buttons on the back of her dress with his hot fingers. “Then perhaps I should help you undress? For the sake of your health, of course.”

She catches his insinuation without hesitation and kisses him quickly and then stands. “It would be a shame to attend a state function so… _flushed_.”

He takes her hand and then kisses her again. “I agree. But I will still send word to Dr. Banner.”

She teasingly scoffs at him. “Perhaps one day you will see that I am not as delicate as you and the rest of the world believe me to be.”

*****

“The pulse does feel a bit quick.” Dr. Banner says, feeling (Y/N)’s neck. “I recommend rest, ma’am. As much as it may inconvenience your guests, I think it wise to cancel your dinner.”

(Y/N) giggles to herself. “You are just like my husband. Far too dramatic. I was hot. I will bring my fan to dinner if it concerns you both so much.”

“If you must attend your function, I ask that you, at the very least, refrain from dancing afterwards. I can only advise that you exercise caution, ma’am.”

“Thank you, doctor.” Steven says, dismissing him. When Dr. Banner leaves the room, Steven eyes her most tauntingly.

“If you say ‘ _I told you so_ ,’ you can find comfort sleeping in the drawing room.” She warns him with a playful smirk. He stays quiet, only stares her down until she breaks. “Alright!” she concedes, standing up and wrapping her arms around him. “My darling Steven, I promise I shall rest easy after our dinner tonight. But if I cannot dance, neither can you!”

He chuckles at her and kisses her nose. “I do believe that is a fair trade.”

She nods in satisfaction. “Good. Now we must hurry and get dressed! I would imagine our guests will be arriving any moment now.”

They help each other dress in outfits fit for state functions and then the appropriate crown jewels are placed on their heads. They walk together out to the foyer where their guests are waiting with Prime Minister Wilson for them: King T’Challa, King Thor, Queen Shuri, King Loki, and another, most welcome guest, waiting patiently in a wheelchair.

(Y/N) heads straight for him with a large smile on her face. “Colonel Rhodes. I am so glad to see you in good health.”

He kisses her hand. “Thank you so much, your Majesty, for having me here as an honored guest.”

“Please. You are no guest. You are more akin to family and I open my home to you whenever you would like to visit, for leisure or otherwise.”

The dinner bell rings shortly after the introductions and (Y/N) asks Rhodes to escort her to dinner. One of the footmen helps him with his wheelchair and he holds up his hand for his Queen to take. Steven asks if he may do the honor of escorting Queen Shuri to dinner himself.

They all take a seat at the large circular table and begin conversations with the person seated to their right. For (Y/N), that is thankfully, the Wakandan Queen. She is surrounded by so many men in Midgard that female company is always appreciated.

The dinner bell rings once more and servants enter the room with plates ready to place in front of all the royals. Pepper and garlic seasoned fish. Something of a staple at Midgardian state functions. As soon as the plate is set in front of her, she feels a pressure in her throat and with a hiccup, she has to discreetly put her hand over her mouth to keep the vomit from spilling out. She stands quickly and hastily steps out of the room—running halfway across the palace to her private chambers where she can empty her stomach into her chamber pot. One of her maidens whom was turning the bed for the night steps in to assist her and clean her face.

She quietly scolds herself for making such a scene at an important occasion, and tries to return to the dining hall, but as soon as she opens her bedroom door, that smell of fish wafts into her face again and she feels sick once more.

A moment later, a footman enters the dining room where Steven and their guests are still waiting for her to return so that they can begin dinner.

“Her Majesty sends her sincerest apologies, but she is quite indisposed and will not be joining you for dinner. She asks that you please enjoy your meal without her.”

Steven sits up in concern but the footman has another message for him.

“Her Majesty also wanted me to assure you that she has already sent for the doctor and has promised to rest until you are finished entertaining your guests.”

Steven nods. Though he doesn’t like to be away from his wife when she is obviously very sick, it would simply be rude to leave their guests to their own accord. He must finish dinner and make polite conversation with them. They are his priority.

He asks Loki about the state of Jotunheim now that he is King and has taken reigns of the industry. The answer is remarkable. What was once a poor, desolate wasteland filled with starving citizens under King Brock’s rule, is now a thriving, wealthy, and artistic nation that exports the most beautiful jewelry in all of the world.

King Thor is engaged to an Asgardian warrior named Sif. King T’Challa married one of his high-ranking diplomatic officers, and Queen Nakia travels the world to help people who suffer from various injustices—though now that the tyranny of King Brock has been vanquished, the world has reached a plateau of undisturbed peace. None of them wish to break it.

They all engage in conversation with each other, but it is painfully obvious that Steven is distracted with worry for his sick wife. Halfway into dessert, Dr. Banner interrupts and asks for a moment. Steven stands and excuses himself to step away so that they may have a private conversation.

“Her Majesty wishes to see you before she will let me continue my treatment.”

“What is wrong? Is it serious?”

“She has asked me to say nothing.” Dr. Banner insists. It is not the answer Steven wants, but at the very least it gives him an excuse to leave dinner early, and he takes it.

He can only imagine the worst has come of Dr. Banner’s diagnosis. His heart already tears itself apart at the thought of losing (Y/N) so soon after he earned her love. He does not think he would survive it.

As selfish as it is, he does not wish to lose the love of his life as she has lost hers.

Steven takes a deep breath as he pushes open the door. (Y/N) sits crying on the bench at the foot of their bed. He falls to his knees in agony at the heartbroken look in her eyes. Her face is wet with tears—so is his. He takes her cheeks in his warm, safe, and loving palms.

“What is it, my darling?” he asks her with a croak, afraid of the answer. She seems to cry harder at his question and it only makes him cry harder. It confirms his suspicions of the worst. “Please…” he begs, “tell me. Whatever it is, know that we—you are strong enough to make it.” His lip quivers and she offers him a sad grin. Then, she reaches for his hands and then rests them both on her belly. Steven understands immediately. He looks at her, and his eyes sparkle. “You are with child?” he asks with such happiness pouring from his heart. She nods, but the look on her face is not convincing him that she feels the same. “Why are you crying?” he asks softly. “Surely this is good news?”

She leans forward to rest her head in the crook of his neck, folding her hands over his over her belly. His heart begins to ache so painfully he can barely stand it. She doesn’t want a child, he guesses. Or at least, she does not want _his_ child. She sits up to look at him and her voice breaks.

“I am scared.”

He furrows his brow and shakes his head in confusion. “Why, my darling?”

“Because…it is a curse to be loved by me. What if I lose this child? What if I die in labor—”

He shudders at the thought.

“—what if our child has to grow up knowing death as we have?”

Steven rests their foreheads together so he can speak directly to her heart. “(Y/N)…you needn’t worry about our child dying. Please remove such dreadful thoughts from your mind. You needn’t worry about dying either. You must remember that you are your mother’s daughter, and your mother successfully and healthily delivered seven children. Two sets of triplets! Do you understand how dangerous such a thing is? If she could make it through that, you are certainly strong enough to make it through this. And I am so lucky to father a child with you, because I know you will be the most wonderful mother.”

She has calmed down considerably at his words, but she still is filled with worry. “There has never been a Queen Regnant whom has given birth before.”

“Perhaps not.” He concedes. “But there has never been such a queen as you, or a love such as ours. You must never underestimate yourself.”

“Steven…” she croaks, removing one of her hands from her belly and placing it to his cheek. “My dearest Steven. I love you. And I don’t think I’ve ever told you just how extraordinary my life is with you in it. You have opened my eyes to beauty I did not have the eyes to see before. Given me a child to nurture and grow that was conceived in love I had thought I lost. I am not an artist with my words as you are, but please know that I could not have made it to where I am now without your guidance and love.”

He can’t resist kissing her then, deep and passionately. She does not speak so openly about her emotions often, so he knows that when she does, she means it with everything she is.

They share a moment of serene silence, but it is likely the most intimate moment they’ve ever shared.

He breathes a sigh of relief. “Dr. Banner said he had some more treatment for you. What did he mean?”

“He believes I have a condition that makes the sickness worse.”

He takes her hands again. “May I stay while he treats you?”

She smiles at him and nods, then he quickly wipes the tears from her face with his sleeve before calling Dr. Banner back into the room. He completes his examination in just a few minutes and then takes out a small notebook to take some notes. Then, he flips to a very particular page towards the front.

“Unfortunately, I have no… _medically_ _suitable_ remedies for such an intense sickness during pregnancy. However, many women who have conceived recommend a bit of brandy mixed with cream to sate the nausea. Your mother swore by it throughout all of her pregnancies. One glass before each meal should be adequate. I should come to check on you and the child’s health once a month. Other than that, ma’am, I recommend resting as much as possible and I can only offer you a congratulations and well wishes.”

“Thank you, Dr. Banner.” Steven says, standing to shake his hand. “I must ask, is it safe to announce?”

“I would give it a few days to make sure the drink is helping to curb the sickness, but yes sir, I do believe it is safe to announce.”

*****

A horseman rides into the village, stopping amongst a large group of villagers and dismounting. Then, he reaches into a small pouch and pulls out a piece of parchment. He clears his throat and shouts: “A Royal Announcement, sent from the offices of His Majesty the King and Her Majesty the Queen!”

More people gather. There has not been a horseman to deliver a message to the people since the late King was announced dead. It is rare—which means it is important.

The horseman clears his throat again so that his voice may resonate to the crowd.

“Rejoice! Out beloved sovereigns wish to share the most wonderful news, that Her Majesty the Queen is expecting a baby by the winter’s end. It is decreed that this child, male or female of body, shall be styled as a Royal Highness and is to be the heir apparent of Midgard. Cannons will fire from the palace grounds at first news of a healthy delivery. So it is.”

****

**Winter’s End**

King Steven has spent the better part of the last year at what used to be the border between his and (Y/N)’s countries. The summers are warm and the winters are cold here—a pleasant balance. It is home.

Steven is on horseback, having arrived here this morning. The Queen is making the journey by carriage—her delicate condition preventing her from accompanying him on horseback. Steven takes his horse to a stableboy and stops by to rub (Y/N)’s horse’s snout—affectionately named Winter for his stark white coat.

Steven waits at the front steps as a carriage approaches from the horizon. He smiles when the it comes close enough for him to catch a glimpse of his lover curiously observing the scene in front of her.

The carriage stops in the courtyard and Samuel helps Queen (Y/N) out before Steven takes over, placing a warm kiss on her lips.

“Where are we, my darling?” (Y/N) asks, looking up at the massive palace in front of her.

“Home.” He says. She looks at him in confusion. “I told you I would build you a castle…but I had to rush the construction after certain news.” He answers, and she smiles at him as he helps her waddle up the steps. The front door is opened for her and she turns one direction, but Steven insists she follow him first. “I have a gift to show you before I let you explore.”

“I think a castle is more than enough for one day, my darling.” She teases, rubbing her back that strains from the mass at her front.

Steven walks his Queen to the back of the castle. There is a luscious green garden, and in the center, a fountain. Steven leads her there and when she gets closer, her heart begins to ache so intensely that she has to grab Steven’s arm to steady herself.

The centerpiece of her new palace gardens is a statue of her dear protector. A plaque rests on the fountain bearing the words “ ** _HERO_ , _WAITING_** ”, and James’ Vibranium sword cast into the stone—a permanent fixture and offering to him.

Long unbroken tears well in her eyes and she rubs the underside of her heavy belly and brings her other hand to her mouth with a gasp. “Steven…”

“It would not be home if he was not there to guard us.”

(Y/N) hugs Steven as tight as she can manage. “Thank you, Steven. I could never repay you for this.”

“But you already have, my darling.” He whispers, rubbing her swollen belly with his hand that dons the ring she gave him on their wedding day. She gives him a tearful smile and he kisses her hand before gently pulling her along to give her a tour of their new home.

A new start. No death. No painful memories coat the walls. It is simply a temple and shrine to their love. A symbol of hope and good fortune for future of the country.

And just a few days later, the Queen delivers a strong, beautiful baby boy that is a perfect mix of Steven and herself. She holds the bundle in her arms, swaddled in the same thin blanket she was as a child, and when Steven asks her what they should name him, she traces her child’s nose with her fingers and answers without hesitation.

James. Prince of Midgard. Namesake of the only man ever to be given the title:

 **Hero**.


End file.
